Deanzilla vs Hydros
by nej47
Summary: Dean slays a monster, only to become pretty monstrous himself. But Dean's not about to let a little-okay, very big-size issue stop him from kicking *** and taking names. **NOW COMPLETE!**
1. Of Swords and Sewers

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal**

**Disclaimer:** Don't own the show or the characters—never have, never will.

**Summary:** Dean slays a monster, only to become pretty monstrous himself. But Dean's not about to let a little (okay, very big) size issue stop him from kicking ass and taking names.

**A/N:** Don't worry, I'm still working on _Cast No Shadow_, but I got this idea for a plotty sort of crack!fic and it won't let me sleep until I write it. Takes place in season 4, just after _Wishful Thinking,_ and features a very, very big and hurting Dean and a very, very concerned and bewildered Sam. Humor, angst, comfort, weirdness—all will be seen before the story's end. Enjoy! And big thanks to Katiki for being kind enough to by my guest beta on this silly tale.

* * *

**Prologue**

_Geneva, IL. Just before 11 p.m._

Baxter the Malamute has a bad habit of having to pee at the worst times—at least, by human standards. That's why Greg, Baxter's human, is hardly surprised when, just seconds after he'd shut off the light to get some sleep, he hears Baxter scratching at the door. With a groan, he gets up, lets Baxter out, and hopes that when the dog howls to be let back in, most of the guests will either be out or sound asleep. A dog with bad pee timing is something he's learned to live with. A motel full of cranky people keeping Greg up with complaint calls is something he'd rather avoid.

As Baxter bounds out to his preferred tree at the side of the property, Greg steps through the door leading from his small residence behind the motel to the front office. No point in sleeping—might as well sit at the desk until the dog gets back. He slumps into the old chair and yawns.

Baxter starts barking. Greg rubs his hand over his dark mustache and mouth, just waiting for the phone to start in. Baxter keeps barking. "What the hell, Bax…" Greg shoves off the chair, unlocks the front door of the office, and steps outside. Baxter is standing by his tree, barking at the parking lot that stretches before him and along the front of the motel.

"Quiet, Bax!" Greg calls as he walks up to him, but Baxter barks on, sounding almost insistent. "What's the matter? Something got you spooked?" Greg looks around as Baxter barks and huddles close, protecting him and seeking comfort at the same time. He sees nothing—just a few cars in the lot, no lights on in the motel save for his front office.

Then he hears it. _Thud_. Low and loud, somewhere out in front of him. Greg narrows his eyes and looks up the street. Nothing—not even any traffic on this late Sunday night. He's about to tell Baxter to heel when he hears it again. _Thud. Thud-thud. _Louder this time, and heavier; he feels the ground vibrate beneath his shoes. He looks at Baxter. Baxter keeps his eyes on something up the road.

_THUD thud THUD THUD-THUD._

Greg sees an enormous blur for a split second—just before it ducks behind the Jolly Green Giant billboard across the street. A huge head pops up. Green eyes illuminated by the upward lighting of the billboard look this way and that. The head ducks back down.

_THUD. _Something BIG steps out into view.

_THUD THUD. _It steps across the street and into the motel's parking lot. Baxter gives up protection duties and hides behind Greg's legs as a 30-foot man takes a final, _THUD_-ing step up to the parked cars.

"Thank God, you're all right," the giant breathes, sounding relieved. Greg and Baxter watch, as transfixed as they are afraid, as the giant kneels down on one, denim-clad knee, then reaches out and lightly rubs his fingers along the roof of the classic black Chevy that's been parked there for a few days. "Don't be afraid, all right?" he tells it, stroking the car again, like he's comforting it. "I'm different, I know, but I'm still me. I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner, but I'm here now, baby. I'm here."

Greg doesn't know what's weirder—that there's a giant man in his motel's parking lot, or that the giant man is acting like a car has feelings. The giant leans in for a closer look at the car. "No one's messed with ya. Good. Sammy was going to come and get you in the morning, but I couldn't stand leaving you out here one more night. Don't need anyone taking my girl away from me."

With that, he centers his hands underneath the Chevy and lifts it up, cradling it to the grey T-shirt underneath his blue button-down as he slowly stands all the way back up. The car is about the size of a large dog in his arms, and he holds it just as carefully. "I know, it's weird for me too," he chuckles, glancing around the parking lot, "but it's not like I can fit inside right now—"

The giant sees Greg and Baxter, and his huge face immediately sets into that caught-in-the-headlights look. Greg tries to look away, not wanting to anger the thing, but he can't—it's all too bizarre. The giant, the regular clothes, the babied car, all here and now and really happening. Then the giant smiles, warm and friendly. "Evening!" he says, voice booming. Baxter whimpers, and at the same time, the giant recoils, looking around to see if anyone else heard his amped-up greeting. Once he's satisfied, his big green eyes look down at Baxter. "You know, my brother used to want a dog just like that. These people we lived next door to for a few months had one. Dad wouldn't let us—wasn't much of a dog person, y'know? 'Course, he wasn't much of a people person, either, heh." Greg just stands there, petrified. The giant nods and smiles again. "Okay then! Nice talking to you." The giant shifts his weight, then shifts the weight in his arms. His eyes grow wide and he looks at Greg, then back at the car, then Greg, car, Greg, Baxter, car.

"Shit…" The giant gives a brief, guilty smirk, looking back upon Greg again. "I know what this looks like, all right? But this is my car." Greg doesn't reply, just stares on. "No really, it is! I've been driving it as long as I've been driving. It's my birthright! My Dad gave it to me—it was his car before that." His enormous boots THUD one step closer, and Greg and Baxter shrink against the tree. The giant kneels down right in front of them, still holding the car close to his chest. "I'm not stealing it," he swears, eyes wide and earnest. "I'm _protecting _it. Protecting HER. You have to believe me."

Greg nods vigorously, still too scared to speak. The giant smirks again, this time self-aware. "And I'm scarin' the crap outta you. Great." He sighs as he stands back up and puts some space between his boots and the terrified human and his dog. "Sorry," he says quietly. "I'll go."

Greg comes out from under the tree as the giant looks around the area. His once friendly face now looks dejected. "I could really use a drink," he confesses to Greg, sounding both amused and sad. "Don't suppose you know a place that serves up Jack in tanker trucks?" Greg shakes his head no, and the giant nods. "Yeah. Figured it wouldn't hurt to ask..." Another small sigh and his eyes go down to the car still in his arms. "Well, come on, baby. We should get back before Sam wakes up and throws a hissy."

The giant thuds back to the street, only to stop, turn, and take a deep breath through his nose. His eyes go dreamy, and he looks back at Greg. "Is there a bakery around here? I swear I smell fresh bread."

Greg's voice rasps up. "Yes!" He clears the fear and puberty redux out of his throat, then speaks up. "Er, yeah…O'Malley's up the…" he points with his arm, "up the street."

"Know what time they open?"

"Six or seven."

The giant gives a thoughtful nod as he looks that way. "Good to know. Thanks." Then he turns and thuds away, ducking every so often behind other billboards and buildings as he goes.

Greg's knees almost give out as his body finally unfreezes. He steps away from the tree, and Baxter happily goes back to pee now that the menace is gone. Greg just looks at the spot where the car had been. How's he supposed to tell the tall guy in room 106 that his car just got stolen by a giant? How's he supposed to report it to the police, to the city…to anyone? And if he does, will the giant come back and kill him? Greg's head starts to hurt.

"Maybe it was all a dream," he says to himself. Then he feels a warm wetness on his pant leg, followed by the stench of dog piss. Greg sighs and looks down at Baxter. "Maybe not."

* * *

**Chapter One: Of Swords and Sewers**

_Geneva, IL. Two nights ago, 9ish_ _p.m._

The Winchester brothers have seen a lot of sewers in their lives. Not exactly something to brag about (and exactly why they never have), but the fact remains that they know what to expect. The sights (disgusting water and sludge), the smells (GOD, the smells), the instant, unclean feeling that overcomes them the moment their work boots touch that bottom rung of the manhole ladder. The sewers underneath the Chicago suburb of Geneva are no different, save for one thing: the creature they are there to hunt is one they have never faced before. And Dean couldn't be more stoked about it.

"Dude, a HYDROS!" he exclaims for the third time since they left the motel, smile brighter than the beam he keeps pointed ahead. Sam nods, keeping his eyes and flashlight on the sewer map he borrowed from the city archives. "These things are badass and friggin' rare," Dean adds. "Dad never hunted one, Bobby's only seen one once—"

"And now we get to fight it," Sam mumbles, shrugging one shoulder to lift his backpack up a little higher. "Yeah, lucky us."

The tip of a bronze sword punctures cleanly through the side of the map, and Dean flicks the paper out of Sam's hands and into his own. They shine their flashlights in each other's annoyed faces. "Careful, Sammy, or you'll kill yourself with excitement," Dean deadpans. Sam doesn't even crack a smile.

"I don't like this, Dean."

"What's not to like? We get to slay a giant, mythical water snake!"

"IF that's what this is," Sam warns. "We don't know for sure. It might just be some really lost anaconda."

Dean shrugs. "So?"

"SO, maybe someone else should handle it. Animal control or biology experts…"

"Right, so more people can die trying to fight this thing." Dean glares through Sam's bitchface. "Remember what that guy from the water department told us? He said it came out the burst water main, snacked on two of his coworkers, and when he tried to bash its brains in with a wrench, it turned into water and slipped down the drain. No snake can do that." He points the sword at Sam. "Has to be a hydros."

"And what if it is?" Sam asks, sounding tired. Dean gives him a look, eyebrows crooked with confusion, and Sam waves it off. "Forget it." Taking his map back, Sam walks on ahead. He hears Dean thrashing the air with the sword as he follows behind him. "You poke me in the ass with that thing and I'll shove it down your throat."

"Kinky," Dean replies. He joins Sam at his side again, still thrashing at nothing. "Think you could call me Strider the rest of the night?"

"Yeah, not happening." Sam puts his arm out to stop Dean from his play-fencing. "Dude, the air isn't going to fight back. Stop stabbing at it before you hit the wall and break it. That sword's ancient."

"And still sharp!" Dean notes with glee, admiring the engraved, ivory handle and the gleaming blade. "It slices, it dices, it juliennes fuglies!" Sam gives him a typical grown-up look to behave, and Dean scoffs, "You're just jealous that I get to use it to end that mother."

"And you're just overcompensating," Sam cracks back with a smirk.

They freeze as they hear metal groaning from somewhere close. They shine their flashlights to the ceiling and watch as a large pipe warps and bulges, supports popping as something oversized passes through it and past them. "How big you think it is?" Dean whispers, tracking the bulges with his beam until the pipe curves around the corner.

"Big enough," Sam whispers back. Something falls and breaks up ahead. They move down the sewer tunnel and make a right turn, emerging into a circular, central room with open water flowing into numerous drainage tunnels. Both men tuck their noses into the tops of their shirts as they switch off their flashlights; this room is well-lit by old, dusty yellow lights. Hundreds of pipes clutter the ceiling above them. Sam points out their pipe, still bearing the tell-tale bulges, and their eyes follow it to the top of one of the room's high brick walls. They hear more pipes groaning from everywhere around them. Sam looks to Dean. "Think it's on to us?"

Brick and water burst forward as a huge form crashes through the wall, knocking both men over as it dives between them and into the open sewer water. Sam rolls to the side and spies a control panel in the corner. Dean jumps back to his feet just as the creature lifts out of the water. To him, it looks like the bastard child of a Chinese dragon and that feathery dinosaur from _Jurassic_ _Park_ that spit poison: 20 feet long, limbless, grey-blue scales, long snout with the slit nostrils of a snake, and a big accordion of white, bat-wing-like skin behind its horned head. The accordion rolls forward like a round, zigzagging collar and rattles as the hydros opens its great mouth and screeches at them, long fangs glinting in the low light. Eyes like embers watch the humans closely, daring them to make a move.

"I'll trap it," Sam mutters, keeping otherwise very still. "You bait it."

Dean nods once. "GO."

Sam runs full tilt toward the control panel. The hydros moves to strike him, only to get the tip of its snout slashed open. It screeches in pain and surprise.

"Hey, not-so-good lookin'!" Dean shouts up at it, holding the sword at the ready. It looks down at Dean and hisses, and Dean grins back. "Let's get cookin'." He flips the sword around by its hilt. In a flash and a crash, the creature's tail flips out of the water and knocks Dean's sword from his hands. It slides well out of reach. Dean's grin fades. "Hold that thought." He dives for it, but the tail comes up and grabs him by the waist.

Sam looks up from the control panel when he hears the annoyed cry of "Saaaaam!" reverberate through the room. The hydros is playing paddle ball with his brother, batting him back and forth, up and down. "Any…time…you feel like…hurryin'…UP!" Dean yells between smackings.

"None of the switches are labeled!" Sam yells back, eyes searching over the dizzying array. He doesn't want to press the wrong one and get flooded with feces.

"DOWN!" Dean orders, and Sam ducks a half second before the huge head smashes through the control panel. Warning lights flash on overhead, sirens ring out. The giant grates begin to shut. At once the snake dives back into the water, tail still holding onto Dean. Two gunshots: Sam fires at the hydros' midsection, but the bullets pass right through it, water shooting out the other side as if he's just fired into a waterfall. The head of the hydros comes back up, and it rattles its collar and hisses at Sam.

"Bullets don't work!" Dean yells down at him in reminder, still trapped by tail muscles. "Bobby said it has to be bronze—"

The hydros snaps its tail and sends Dean into the wall. Dean falls to the floor in a knocked-out heap.

"Dean!" Sam runs for him. The hydros strikes, a blur of blue and hiss. Sam flings himself back and the fangs bite into the floor mere inches in front of him. It's stuck. The thing writhes and screams, trying to free itself, and Sam jogs past it and up to Dean as his older brother stirs.

"You all right?" Sam asks, helping him up.

"…yeah. No. Working on it." Dean shakes the remaining dizziness from his head. Around them, the grates shut completely, leaving only their tunnel as an exit. The hydros seems to realize it the same time as the guys. It tries to pull free again, sending huge cracks through the stone floor as it rocks its trapped fangs back and forth. Dean's eyes go to the smashed-up panel on the other side of the creature.

"Think there's a switch to close off the tunnel?"

Sam nods. "I saw an emergency button just before we came in." He nods at the sword not far from where they stand. "Think you can stab it in five seconds?"

The massive jaws bite through the stone at last, pieces of stone floor flying everywhere. It stretches, screeches, and plunges for the tunnel. The Winchesters move.

_Five._

Dean lunges for the sword. Sam runs back toward the tunnel.

_Four._

Dean grabs the sword. Sam slides under the body of the diving behemoth and into the tunnel.

_Three._

Dean runs at the hydros. Sam punches the button.

_Two._

The heavy tunnel barrier drops. The giant snake's head slips underneath it. Dean jumps through next to it.

_One. _

The barrier pins the hydros at its middle. It lifts its head and screams. Dean thrusts the sword up and through the soft spot under the jaw, pressing high and into the brain. The hydros chokes, staring at Dean with all its fury. Dean stares right back with his as he twists the sword and pulls down, slashing its throat.

All falls quiet, save for Dean's pounding heart. He trembles with adrenaline, breathes, watches the lights in the ember eyes go out. Sam crawls out from the other side of the hydros. He looks at Dean to make sure he's all right. Dean at once breaks into a big grin.

"We have GOT to kill more things with swords," Dean tells him.

Sam gives a small laugh and shakes his head, and Dean slashes a big X into the air before holding it up, triumphant and geeky. "Face it, Sammy—I make this look good."

All at once, the wound in the hydros opens up, dumping bluish, putrid ooze onto every part of Dean until he's soaked through to the skin with monster insides. It's Sam's turn to grin. Dean points the goop-covered arm and sword at him. "Shut up." The sword disintegrates into mush, leaving Dean with a useless, ivory hilt. Sam bites down on his lip, still grinning. A different kind of hiss sounds out from the monster, and the entire form deflates as sewer water rushes out between all the scales, cleaning Dean (well, if you call a barrage of sewer water 'clean') as the fleshy parts of the monster sag. Sam loses it and laughs his ass off. Dean glares at him, hair dripping wet with remaining goop and disgusting water. Sam tries to stop laughing, but he can't. He waves his hand that he's sorry, even as he giggles and wipes the tears from his eyes. Dean turns away, boots and socks squidging as he moves.

"Just burn the thing already so I can get to my shower…"

Fifteen minutes later and what's left of the hydros is finally ablaze. It took both of them five of those minutes to drag the hydros carcass all the way in to the tunnel (the barrier plunging shut behind them), then nearly ten minutes to get the fire started. All the water in the creature made the first two attempts nearly impossible, so Dean covered the thing with the salt and woodchips Sam had brought along (Dean begrudgingly admitting that Sam's "just in case" supplies were worth it this time). Sam then doused it again with what remained of their accelerant, and whoosh, gigantic snake on an open fire. They can't leave until they make sure that every last piece of it has been burned—Bobby's specific instructions. Both of them keep eyes and ears peeled for the water department personnel who, sooner or later, are going to notice the closed doors on this part of the line. So far, so good.

Dean sits close to the fire, letting the heat dry his clothes and skin. It doesn't really work, but at least it feels good. Sam pokes the front of his boot at the area of ash directly in front of him, wincing as the odor of Burned Beastie hits his nose. "Actually smells worse than you do," he comments to Dean. Dean doesn't comment back, so Sam looks at him. Dean is leaning over and resting his head between his hands. "You okay man?"

Dean rubs his forehead as he looks back up at Sam. "I'm fine. A little dizzy." His stomach rumbles. "A lot hungry. We're getting food on the way back."

"Dean, no restaurant is going to serve two people who crawled out of the sewers."

"So drive-thru then." Dean stands up, wobbles, puts his hand out to signal to Sam that he's all right, and looks at the pile of monster ash. "That thing dead enough yet?"

They hear footsteps and walkie-talkie talk from nearby. "Better be," Sam answers, already ushering Dean down the tunnel. They break into a run when they hear the tunnel barrier lifting back up. The first 'what the hell?!' exclamations echo down to them just as they reach the manhole ladder. They make their ascent as quietly as possible, and Dean starts the car as Sam replaces the manhole cover. It's raining outside, and Sam's boot sinks into muddied ground as he opens the passenger door, throws his backpack in the back, and gets in.

Dean puts the car in drive, pauses, then puts it back in park. He reaches down to the seat lever and moves the seat back. Sits. Feels. "No, that's not right…" He moves the seat again, forward and back, resting on different clicks before he settles on one again. Sits. Feels. Frowns. "What the hell, man," Dean gripes, looking at Sam. "How many times do I have to tell you—DON'T fuck with the seat."

"I didn't."

"Oh yeah? Then why is it all wrong?"

Sam shrugs his shoulders high, pouting his lip in an 'I don't know!' expression. "Maybe you moved it."

Dean makes a face and mimics Sam's voice in a high, girlie tone. "Why the hell would I move it?" He adjusts it again, settles back…sits…and sighs. "Still isn't right."

"Dean, we have to go—those workers in the tunnel—"

"Yeah yeah yeah…" He moves it back one more time, readjusts his mirrors, and puts the car into drive. "I know you have to move the seat when you drive, okay? I get it. You need the leg room. But move it back when you're done."

"I do!" Sam swears. "Dean, after all these years, I have your seat position memorized, all right? I ALWAYS move it back there after I drive. In fact, most of the time, I don't move the seat back at all, just so I don't have to worry about putting it back again!"

Dean ignores him, too busy moving around in his damp clothes and trying to get comfortable. Sam just shuts his eyes, too weary from their latest brush with death to argue his point any more. The car turns left at the light.

Behind them, something blue and tiny wriggles in the muddy grooves of Sam's bootprint. The rain soaks into it, and the tiny thing grows into a very small worm. The rain picks up and sweeps it away, sending it down the nearest drain and into the sewers.

* * *

They drive for a few minutes before either of them talks, both of them going over the hunt in their minds, making sure they didn't forget to do anything. Then Sam slouches down in his seat and takes a deep breath to relax—only to get a full whiff of how they, especially Dean, still smell. He coughs and puts his finger under his nose.

"Come on, it's not THAT bad," Dean grumps.

"You're right. It's worse." Sam ignores the look he gets from Dean for that and rests his head on the back of the bench seat. "Showers, beer, bed, sleep, in that order," Sam says.

"FOOD, showers, beer, bed, sleep," Dean corrects. "And you're doing a load of laundry."

"I am?"

"You are."

Dean pulls the Impala into a KFC and heads for the drive-thru as Sam asks, "Why do I have to do the laundry when you're the one that smells like a landfill?"

Dean stops in front of the order screen and throws him a look. "Because!" is all he answers. A young male voice asks Dean what he'd like, and Dean gives Sam another look before he turns to the speaker. "Give me the biggest bucket of chicken you've got. Original recipe. Throw in a big bowl of potatoes and gravy, some slaw, a few biscuits and, uh…ooh, two of those mini apple pies for dessert." He looks at Sam. "What're you having?"

Sam snorts out a laugh, but then sees the serious look on Dean's face. "Oh! Um…I'll just have a chicken sandwich."

Dean leans back toward the speaker. "And a chicken sandwich for my brother."

The teen rattles off the order and the price, and Dean pulls ahead. Dean feels Sam staring at him, so he asks, "What?" without looking over.

Sam's too tired to argue or remind Dean that even his enormous stomach has limits. "Nothing."

Dean hands the teen some money, and the kid's face scrunches up as the stench hits him. "Dude…what the hell were you guys doing?" he asks as he hands Dean their big bag of food.

"Saving your ass and everyone else in this town by fighting a very old-school monster," Dean replies matter-of-factly. "You got honey for the biscuits?"

The teen doesn't say anything, just hands him a handful of honey packets. Dean smirks in victory and takes off. He drops the packets in the bag, and then hands the bag to Sam. The Impala peels out of the eatery's lot.

"Open the bucket." Dean feels Sam staring again, and this time he looks at him. "What? I'm hungry, let's go."

"You just had supper two hours ago."

"So? I'm hungry again."

"So hungry that you're going to forget the Chicken Rule?" Sam challenges. Dean glares at Sam's satisfied smirk. "It's your rule, Dean, not mine."

Dean grumbles a "no" as he thinks over his list of things not allowed in the car. The Chicken Rule was near the top: No eating chicken in the car unless it's in sandwich form. It's to save the interior from greasy fingerprints and keep chicken bones from falling underneath the seats—a very important rule. Sam is still smirking, Dean notes, and he relents with another grumble—this one from his stomach. Dean gives the Impala a little more gas and speeds them through a yellow light.

"You just gave up your pie."

Sam says nothing, just turns his smirk to the window.

* * *

They opt for a different motel than the one they woke up in—that one had too many cockroaches, even for them. Sam spies the vacancy sign at the Nite Lite Inn and Dean pulls into a parking space. Sam opens his door, but Dean stays where he is. Sam looks back, expecting Dean to be reaching for the food. Instead, his brother has his knuckles to his forehead, eyes shut tight.

"Dean?"

"'m fine, Sammy," Dean murmurs in reply. "Just a headache." His stomach growls again, and he opens his eyes and looks at his little brother. "Hurry up and get a room. You're starting to look like a drumstick."

Sam frowns, Dean smirks, and Sam shuts the door. Dean waits until he sees Sam inside the front office before he hangs his head and presses his knuckles to his forehead again. His head HURTS. Pain is radiating everywhere, like his brain wants out of his skull. He's had headaches before, but never one this bad. Twice he nearly pulled over to let Sam drive, but he didn't. The last thing his brother needs right now is another reason to freak.

In the two days since the crazy wish hunt and Dean's admission about remembering his time in Hell, Sam's been looking at him differently. Dean hates it. Hates the worry in those damn puppy dog eyes, hates the pity behind them. But he hates the curiosity most of all. He knows Sam still wants details. It just makes Dean that much more determined to keep his mouth shut, because if Sam ever finds out the truth—the WHOLE truth—Sam will never look at him again. Period. And Dean would rather go back to Hell than have to face that.

So when Sam comes back outside, dangling the room key and pointing up ahead, Dean clenches his teeth, sucks it up, and puts his game face on as he steps out of the car—and thwacks his head on the frame. Sam winces as Dean staggers out, hand to the top of his head, swearing up a storm.

"How's the head?" Sam asks.

Dean scowls at the stupid question. "Fantastic. Never better." Sam starts to look pissy, so Dean waves it off. "It's fine, Sam. I'll live. You get the bags, I'll get the food." He reaches back in and gets Sam's backpack out of the backseat.

Sam stops at the blue door kitty corner to where Dean has parked—room 106. Sam unlocks the door and opens it a crack before heading back to the car, watching Dean the whole time. Dean knows it—he comes back out of the car (ducking low this time) with a biscuit in his mouth, the food bag in his hand, and Sam's backpack slung over one arm. He tosses Sam the keys. "Hurry up," Dean says through clenched-on-biscuit teeth. Sam unlocks the trunk, grabs the bags, shuts the trunk, and follows his brother into the room. Dean is sitting on the bed closest to the door, already spreading out the food containers.

"Dude, get to the sink and soap up," Sam says. "I don't want your sewer hands touching my sandwich."

Dean holds up a very dirty moist toilette cloth to his fussy brother. "Would it kill you to give me a little more credit?" Sam frowns a little. Dean chucks the wrapped-up sammitch at him. "I'll eat while you shower. Then you can eat and do a load of laundry while I shower."

"Ooh, can I starch and press your shirts just the way you like it?" Sam mocks, setting his sandwich down on the nightstand.

"I don't know, can you?" Dean puts a chicken thigh in his mouth and points to the bathroom. Sam turns on a sigh.

"Fine. But I'm only washing our clothes from today. It's your turn to do laundry, jackass."

Dean tears off some chicken and replies, "Shoulda thought of that before you laughed at me back there." He puts on a sad face. "You hurt me, Sammy. Right here." He pats at his heart and whispers, "Right through here."

Sam rolls his eyes, Dean grins and bites off more chicken, and Sam goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. He pulls the water on in the shower to let it heat up. Then he strips off his grimy clothes, grabs the complimentary shampoo and soap, and climbs inside, planning on the quickest shower possible so he can get back before Dean covers his little brother's bed with the crumbs of 11 herbs and spices.

Four minutes later, Sam emerges from the bathroom, clean and fresh and towel-wrapped. "All yours—" He pauses when he sees Dean curled up on the floor in front of his bed. Sam takes in the nearly empty container of coleslaw, the bone-filled chicken bucket, the gravy-coated bowl, and the biscuit crumbs, and nods in understanding—and a little queasiness. "Your stomach, huh?"

"No," Dean groans, sounding irritated. "My head." He shuts his eyes as he sits back up and leans against the bed. "One second I'm eating, next the room goes upside down and I'm on the floor." He cringes as another pang hits his skull. "Ungh…you got anything for headaches?"

Sam is already at his backpack, rummaging through the contents until he finds a well-traveled baggie. "I have ibuprofen, aspirin, acetaminophen, migraine-strength Tylenol…" he shakes the baggie and looks at two large pills that roll out from behind the bottles, "and two Percocet. But you probably shouldn't have those after all the crap you just ate."

Dean cracks an eye open. "You're a regular Walgreens, Sammy."

"I get a lot of headaches," Sam says quietly, handing his brother the bottle of aspirin. Dean takes it and looks closely at Sam as realization dawns.

"Still?" Dean asks. Sam shrugs off the question. "Or is it new…you know, the…the, um…" Dean puts his hand out, like Sam does when he's exorcising, then waves it around to gesture a question. Sam looks down. "Every time?" Dean asks.

"Every time," Sam admits. "Not as bad as the first few times, but yeah…still."

Dean frowns. "You didn't tell me about that."

"No, I didn't." Sam looks right at him. "Don't want you looking at me like I'm gonna break."

Dean nods and swallows three aspirin. "Yeah," he mumbles. "I get that." The two brothers trade concern and frustration, and then Sam looks at the clock and Dean looks at the bathroom.

"Get in there before you stink up the place any more," Sam tells him. Dean scowls half-heartedly, apparently still in a lot of pain, and Sam helps him stand back up.

"Laundry," Dean gruffs, trudging to the bathroom. He's walking a little crooked, Sam notes, and he follows him. He stops right by the bathroom door as he hears Dean start to undress.

"You uh…" Sam clears his throat. "Need any help?"

He gets no reply. Sam takes a breath and peeks his head around the corner, scared to find his brother on the floor and in pain. Before he sees anything, he gets two disgusting socks, damp black boxer briefs, and a pair of reeking jeans thrown in his face.

"LAUNDRY," Dean barks from beyond. Two balled up shirts come at him next, and then the door slams shut.

Sam leaves the smelly pile where it lies and goes to his bag, retrieving some fresh clothes as he dreams up revenge plans.

* * *

Dean is asleep when Sam returns from laundry detail. The TV is on mute, and there are two beer bottles on the nightstand, one half-empty, one untouched. Sam creeps past his brother's bed and sets the dry clothes over the desk and chair in the corner. Then he looks back at Dean's peaceful face, willing it to stay that way.

_Maybe tonight you'll actually sleep, _Sam hopes. _Please, God, just once, let him have a night off. _

Sam picks up the foodstuffs and carries them back outside, not wanting to wake up to the stench of chicken bones in the morning. He eases the door shut when he returns, and moves past Dean's bed—only to trip on something. His arms pinwheel as he fights to regain his balance and not crash into the floor. He manages, but only barely. Sam looks back at the culprit and finds their work boots at the end of the aisle between the beds. Sam bends down and is hit with the faint scent of soap and dirt. He smiles.

_Cleaned the boots while I did the laundry. Thanks, Dean._

Grabbing both pairs, he sets them near the freshly laundered clothes so he won't trip over them again. Then he does a double take. Dean's dark brown boots look the same length as Sam's tan ones. Sam reaches for them, but stops himself. _No, idiot. You're just tired. It's been a long day, and you're seeing things. Go to bed._

Sam changes into his sweats and does just that.

The next morning, Sam wakes up to the smell of chicken anyway; he never ate his sandwich. His hand gropes around on the nightstand until it finds the wrapped object. "Dean," Sam murmurs, voice as tired as the rest of him. "You want this? Otherwise I'm throwing it away."

No answer. Sam opens his eyes and looks over. Dean's bed is empty. Sam sits straight up. He feels something rustle against his neck, and he looks down and sees a note pinned to his old t-shirt. Sam rips it off and has a look.

_Car wash. Back soon. -D_

Sam yawns and swings his long legs out of bed. He takes a look at the clock. 8:36. _Dean was up before nine on a non-hunting day. Wow. Better mark this day on my calendar. _Sam yawns again and stands up. He ambles toward the bathroom and grabs the clothes from yesterday off the chair—they are freshly clean, after all. He pees, he washes up, and then he picks out the longer shirts from the shorter ones and starts to change. He pulls the grey tee over his head and starts to button the blue one and—

_Wait a minute._

Sam pauses mid-button and looks down. He's wearing Dean's shirts. _But Dean's shirts don't fit me. _He takes the shirts off and holds them up against the flannel he wore yesterday. They're the same length—in fact, Dean's blue button-down is even a little longer. "What the hell?" He goes back to the room and his hazel eyes go down to the work boots. The dark ones are half an inch longer than the lighter brown ones. Sam goes to the bathroom and splashes water on his face.

_You're seeing things. You have to be._

Then he hears the front door open. "Honey, I'm home!" Dean calls. Sam walks back out just as Dean pulls his brown shirt off. Dean sees Sam staring and throws the shirt at him. "You owe me a new shirt. You must've shrunk it last time you did the laundry." Sam just keeps staring as Dean starts tugging at his jeans. "Jeans don't feel right, either," Dean mumbles. "No breathing room, y'know?" He looks up and sees pure shock on Sam's face. "Sam?"

"Your clothes are fine, Dean," Sam says, bug-eyed stare fixed on Dean's face. "It's you. You're…"

Dean waits for Sam to spit it out, and when he doesn't, he holds his hands out. "Am I missing something here?"

"You're…you…I don't know…how…" Sam gives up trying to explain and just walks toward Dean until he's directly in front of him. Then he waits for him to see it.

Dean frowns, opens his mouth to complain about the charades game, and then sees something that's off: his view. Sam is looking him straight in the eye. At _eye level_, no less. Dean stands up straight on instinct, and both eyes widen as Dean gains an extra inch on his brother. Dean clears his throat.

"Okay…that's not normal."


	2. The Pains of Growing

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Posting these shorter chapters is WEIRD for me, LOL. Ah well, I'll get over it ;) Thanks again to the awesome Katiki for beta-ing! Off we go…

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Pains of Growing**

Dean stares at Sam. Sam stares at Dean. Dean's eyes narrow. Sam's eyebrows go up. Dean leans a little closer, studying Sam's face.

"This is a prank, isn't it." Dean drops the question on Sam as he pushes past him and walks to the other side of the room.

"What?!" Sam asks, turning to follow him.

"You heard me." Dean puts his duffel on the bed and starts rummaging for another shirt. "Nice try, little brother, but I'm not falling for it." He holds up his olive shirt and slides an arm through.

"Dean, this isn't a prank."

"Uh-huh."

"Why would I be pranking you?"

"You tell me—it's your stupid prank." Dean puts his other arm through and starts to roll up the sleeves—only to see that they're both already short. He drops his arms, waves them to unravel any clingy fabric, and checks again. Neither sleeve gets any closer to his wrist. "What the hell, Sam? Did you wreck ALL my clothes for this?"

The bitchface makes its first appearance of the day. "Yeah, you got me. In fact, last night, while you were asleep, I went out and bought smaller versions of all your clothes, JUST to mess with you." Dean looks down at his shirt, and Sam rolls his eyes. "This isn't a prank, Dean!" Sam insists. "You're really taller! And so are your clothes—well, some of them. The ones you had on yesterday. Look." Sam whooshes past him and retrieves the shirts. "These will fit you. Try them."

Dean looks skeptical, but he takes the grey tee and pulls it on. Sure enough, it fits just fine.

"I noticed they were a little bigger this morning," Sam tells him. "I put them on, thinking they were my clothes." Dean puts on the blue button-down next and the sleeves reach all the way down. He rolls them up and looks at Sam, still not buying it. "Look at your jeans, they're as long as mine!" Sam holds the two pairs up side by side to demonstrate. "And your boots, compare them to your other—" Sam looks down and notes for the first time that Dean is barefoot. "Where are your shoes?"

Dean turns sheepish. "I, uh…took them off in the car." Sam throws him a look, and Dean retorts, "What? My feet hurt."

"Let me guess—your shoes felt too small?"

Dean points at him. "Don't read into that."

"And what about your socks?"

"They had holes in them."

"Dean, most of your socks have holes in them."

Dean shakes his head and murmurs, "Not like these," thinking of the completely torn-through socks that fell off his feet the instant he freed them from his other pair of boots. He looks at Sam again. Really looks. Sees the inch he's gained on his ginormotron brother. _So this is real? _Dean thinks, checking to see if Sam is slouching or standing in a dip in the floor. He isn't—Sam even straightens as Dean looks him over.

"You believe me now?" Sam asks, looking up at his brother (and mirroring Dean's look of bewilderment as he does so).

"I don't know what to believe," Dean confesses, sounding more annoyed than lost. "So what, I'm growing? I'm almost 30—why the growth spurt now?"

"It's not a normal growth spurt."

"Wow, you think?" Dean glares. He opens his mouth to snap something else, only to suck in a sharp breath instead. His eyes balloon and his face flushes.

"Dean?" Sam is visibly worried, and Dean tries to wave it off, but he cries out, torso heaving forward in obvious pain. Sam puts his hand on Dean's shoulder to steady him. "What? What's wrong?"

"Breathing room...gone!" Dean wheezes in a high voice, still doubled over. Sam looks even more confused, until Dean points 'down there', then gestures the whole area being cut off.

"You mean it's…?"

A fierce nod from Dean.

"And they're—?!"

Another fierce nod, accompanied by a few tears. Sam smirks and giggles. Dean throws his best death glare, and Sam chuckles, "What? Dude, that's FUNNY." Dean pushes him off and shuffles toward the bed. "Come on! You know you'd be laughing at me if I was the one—" Dean falls to the floor. Sam's smirk drops at once. He rushes over to Dean just as his brother rolls onto his back, face clenched in pain. Sam hesitates, readies himself, and then reaches for Dean's zipper. Dean smacks him away.

"Hands off the merchandise!" Dean barks, still wincing through the tears.

"Then what do you want me to do?"

Dean props himself up on an elbow and shakes his head hard, obviously trying to get a grip. "Get me up…help me to the bathroom…"

Sam puts an arm behind Dean's back and another on Dean's shoulder and lets his brother lean on him as they both stand up. Sam feels Dean's muscles and skin rippling and elongating, the cotton shirt smoothing out with the growing form instead of constricting it. Sam has to bite his tongue to keep from commenting on how weird it all is. He walks Dean over to the bathroom, and Dean kicks his clean jeans and boxer briefs onto the linoleum. "I can do this," he assures both himself and Sam, and he takes a deep breath and steps inside. Sam heads straight for his laptop.

"It has to be the hydros," Sam calls, sitting down on his bed and resting the computer on his lap. "All that blue crap that covered you after you killed it."

"Timing fits," Dean calls back, voice still shortened by pain. "Explains my clothes, too. But Bobby never mentioned anything about hydros blood making things grow. You think he would've given us a heads up."

"Maybe he didn't know. Hydros lore is pretty scarce—"

Sam jolts as a fairly loud scream comes out of the bathroom. Sam doesn't tease him—that one sounded like it really hurt.

"Everything all right in there?" Sam asks, almost afraid to know.

"Put it this way, Sammy—you know those old cartoons where they'd get a knock on the head, and this big pointy bump would swell up and throb and you could throw a horseshoe around it?" Dean pauses so Sam can get the clear picture in his head. "Yeah, it's like that, only worse, cos it's the other head."

Sam bristles at the description. "Ow."

"Yeah. Thanks for asking."

"Sorry."

Sam goes back to his laptop, though it's clear that he won't be getting anywhere—there's no WiFi around. _Should've known, _Sam thinks, closing the computer again. He gets out his phone and finds a message from Bobby:

_Feel free to let me know if you're still alive. No rush. _

Sam smiles at the gruff concern. "Sorry, Bobby." He already has their old friend's contact number highlighted and is hitting the Connect button. Through the paper-thin walls behind him, Sam hears fabric being ripped. Then Dean grunts, cries out again, and grunts some more. Another tear, another tug, and then Dean heaves a long, contented sigh.

"Holy FUCK that's better!" Dean shouts. Sam grins, both amused and relieved, and then turns his attention back to his phone. Bobby isn't picking up, so Sam presses the code to leave a message.

"Hey Bobby, it's Sam. We're alive, hunt went fine, but something's going on with Dean. Nothing bad…well, sorta bad, but not dying-bad…just—look, when you get this, call me back, all right?" Sam pockets his phone again and looks up as Dean emerges from the bathroom, fully dressed save for his socks and looking very relaxed.

"So much better," he says again, that little kid smile on his face. It makes Sam smile in turn. Dean bends down and retrieves his socks and boots from the floor. "Hurry up and get ready. Breakfast is calling, and I have to answer."

Sam stands up and walks over to his own clothes. "You ate a family-sized meal last night, and you're still hungry for breakfast?"

Dean beams down at him. "What can I say? I'm a growing boy, Sammy." He stands tall to prove it, and both men see he's gained about another inch in just a few minutes. Sam is now eye-level with Dean's smirking mouth—right about where Dean usually is on Sam.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Sam asks, astonished and a bit annoyed. The smirk becomes a grin.

"It feels right, Sammy." Dean claps him on the shoulder. "I haven't been able to see over your head since you were 15. Now the big brother is the bigger brother again. What's not to like?" Dean kneels down and starts to tie the laces on his boots. He sees Sam still standing there, looking troubled. "NOW what?"

Sam shakes his head. "I don't know, man…a minute ago you were in a world of pain, and now you're Mr. Sunshine."

"More like Mr. Blue Sky," Dean winks. Sam starts to frown, so Dean shoos him away. "G'wan! Get dressed, let's go. Both our brains work better on coffee. We'll caffeinate and we'll search for answers, just like any other day."

Boots laced, Dean stands back up and grabs the car keys off the table. He's whistling the happy ELO tune as he goes to the door, ducks his head, and walks outside. Sam watches Dean's tall shadow stroll past the shade-covered window, and Sam's eyes drift back to the door. He walks over and stands directly in front of it. The frame is a few inches higher than the top of his head. Sam sulks as he turns back to face the room.

For the first time in years, he feels short.

* * *

After Sam's dressed and Dean is done fussing with the Impala's bench seat again, they seek out the nearest greasy spoon. There, Dean orders half the breakfast menu, doubling up on bacon and coffee. Sam just orders Belgian waffles.

"Oooh, I forgot about waffles," Dean coos as the middle-aged waitress scribbles his brother's order. "I'll take some of those, too." The waitress scowls and mutters something under her breath. A small bit of glee leaves Dean's face. "What? Don't I deserve waffles today?"

The waitress turns her scowl to Dean. "You shouldn't order what you won't eat."

Dean smiles at her, cool and charming. "And what makes you think I won't clean my plate, sweetheart?"

"Because you've ordered seven plates." She points her pen over her shoulder to a very large man sitting over two chairs at the counter. "Even Leon can't eat seven plates in one go. You're going to waste our time cooking it, just so you can eat a little off everything and waste the rest. People are starving in the world, you know, and you're—"

"Save the speech," Dean interrupts, still smiling. "I swear I'm going to eat it all." The scowl remains on the waitress' face. "Tell you what—if I don't, you can let Leon kick my ass out the door."

She rips the ticket off her order pad. "I'm holding you to that." She turns on her heel and clomps back to the kitchen. Dean leans back and relaxes against the worn cushions in the booth. Sam is on his laptop, typing and clicking away. "Find anything yet?"

"About you eating enough for a small army? Amazingly, no."

"Funny, Sam. Really."

Sam keeps his eyes on the screen as he reads on. "Looking through the excerpts from the medieval bestiary Bobby pointed us to yesterday. Nothing we don't already know." The waitress arrives with their coffee, and Sam pauses as she pours. Sam thanks her, and she smiles and nods a 'you're welcome.' Dean does the same, and she slams the urn down on the table and walks away. Dean chuckles after her departure.

"She does NOT like me," he announces, not at all bothered by it. He pours his own mug and takes a sip. "Mmm. Good jo though."

Sam's phone rings, and Sam nearly fumbles it into his own mug as he races to retrieve it from his jacket pocket.

"Bobby?"

"Don't tell me he got bit," Bobby growls into his ear. Sam looks at Dean as his brother reaches to the table next to them and snags the abandoned newspaper.

"No, he didn't," Sam replies. Bobby breathes his relief.

"Good. We'd be in a world of trouble then."

The first of the food arrives—Sam's waffles are set gently down next to his laptop, and Dean takes his plate before the waitress can dump the contents into his lap. Sam anchors the phone with his shoulder as he saws into his breakfast. "What kind of trouble?"

"BIG trouble. The venom of a hydros is like super-strength growth hormone. You get a little bite, you'll only swell up a bit. You get a big bite or a lotta bites, you grow."

Dean's finished his waffles and is on to his mountain of bacon, just delivered by their waitress. "How much?" Sam asks, looking at Dean's big hands as they scoop up the bacon pile and shove it into his watering mouth.

"Depends on how much venom gets in the blood. The more you get, the more you grow. In fact, people as far back as ancient Greece used to use small doses of hydros venom to make themselves bigger and stronger. Sorta like snake steroids."

The rest of the food is on the table now, and Dean is practically inhaling it plate by plate, pausing only for the occasional sip of coffee. The waitress and the cook watch from the diner counter, both mouths dropped into 'O's. Sam swallows the single piece of waffle he's had in his mouth this whole time. He cups his hand over the phone. "I'll be right back…can barely hear him." Dean waves with his fork, eyes still on his feast, and Sam slides out of the booth and steps outside.

"Bobby…hypothetical question."

"Shoot."

"What would happen if a person gets a lot of hydros venom—like, buckets of it?"

"Hydros would have to be pretty big for anyone to get buckets of the stuff…"

"How big can the person get?" Sam presses. "Are there any side-effects? How long before they're back to normal?"

"Sam…"

"Just tell me, Bobby. How big?"

"Well, REAL big. There are stories of victims growing to giants, even Titan-sized. And if it isn't treated right away…"

"What?" Sam looks back at Dean through the window. He's just finished and is calmly sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. "What happens?"

Bobby sighs into the receiver. "Shit…we're talking about Dean, here, aren't we."

"You should've told us about the venom!"

"I didn't think I'd have to tell you morons not to let a snake bite ya!"

"I already told you, Dean didn't get bit," Sam snaps back. "He killed the hydros with the bronze sword we stole from the museum, just like you told him to. But after he cut its throat, some blue goop came out of its neck and covered Dean head to toe."

"And now he's getting bigger," Bobby surmises. "Great. How much bigger?"

"Few inches so far. His clothes and shoes are growing with him. What's the cure?"

"Well, tradition holds that ox dung is the only treatment."

"Ox dung," Sam repeats, looking in on his brother again. "Dean's gonna love that."

"It might not be enough. If Dean came in contact with that much venom…"

Sam pinches the skin between his eyebrows and sighs out his worry. "What, Bobby?"

"I don't know yet. Could be bad, could be very bad."

"That's encouraging."

"People have died from this, Sam. Their hearts can't take the stress of growing. Chances are good that Dean won't be one of 'em, but I'm not gonna lie to you and say it's not a possibility."

Sam turns away from the window, nodding even though he knows Bobby can't see it. "Just keep an eye on Dean," Bobby instructs. "I'll look into this and get back to you soon as I know anything."

Sam thanks him and hangs up. Then he goes back inside. To his surprise, Dean has left Sam's waffles be. Sam sits back down in his seat, and Dean smiles and toasts him with his coffee mug.

"So? What did Bobby have to say?"

Sam watches Dean's fingers grow longer, obscuring the design on the coffee cup, as his shoulders broaden and his left knee gently bumps into Sam's. Dean doesn't seem to notice, just waits for Sam to answer.

"Let me eat. Then we'll talk."

Dean shrugs in good nature, takes a sip of coffee, and goes back to reading the newspaper. Sam takes another bite of waffles as he tries to figure out just how to break it to Dean that his enjoyable growth spurt might just end up killing him. The thought wrecks Sam's appetite, not to mention any shred of remaining good mood, but he knows he has to eat, so he forces the food down, one bite at a time. He shuts his eyes.

_It'll be fine, _he tells himself. _You'll fix this. Bobby will find the answer, and if he doesn't, you will. _

His eyes reopen to Dean hanging his head in his hands. "Dean? You all right?"

"Headache's back," Dean grumbles. He lifts his head up a little—and freezes. The color drains from his face. His eyes glaze over as he looks at Sam. Then he starts to tremble. In seconds the trembles become seizures. His chin drops and his arms wave around wildly, knocking the mugs and a few plates from the table. Sam rushes over just in time to catch his brother before he tumbles to the ground.

"I gotcha," Sam says, easing Dean back into the booth. Dean winces as Sam's hand touches his back. "What, it hurts?" Dean nods at the question, gesturing to his back and to his head. Kneeling down next to the booth, Sam looks over at the gaggle of rubberneckers and spots the waitress. "Could you get me some ice for my brother's head?" She nods and rushes to the kitchen. Sam turns his attention back to Dean. The color is returning to his face, and his eyes are back to their sharp green. "If you wanted seconds, all you had to do was ask," Sam jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Dean gives a pained smile as he looks at him.

"Sorry," Dean tells him. "Dunno what that was…it's like I got stabbed in the head. Then my back, ugh…" Dean rubs at his shoulders, then his lower back, twisting to look down at it. "Feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it." The waitress returns with some ice wrapped in a dishcloth and hands the bundle to Dean, former annoyance with her customer now replaced with a motherly concern. Dean takes the cloth and holds it to the front of his head.

"How, uh…how's your heart?" Sam asks.

"Beating. Why?" Sam doesn't answer him, and Dean looks up and frowns. "Bad news from Bobby, huh."

"Yeah."

"How bad? Annoying-bad or red-alert-bad or no-Christmas-this-year-bad?"

Sam looks back and replies, "Ox-dung-bad."

Dean shoots Sam a double eyebrow. "Wow. That's bad." He signals for the check and slides to the edge of the booth.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"To the car. Have a crazy feeling that I'm gonna want to hear this bad news from the comfort of my baby's plushy goodness."

Dean pulls a wad of crumpled bills from his jeans pocket and drops them on the table. Then he grabs the newspaper and shuffles toward the door. Sam scurries after him, scared that Dean will topple again, only to find something much more worrying:

Sam's now only eye-level with the bottom of Dean's neck.


	3. Stop Throwing Your Height Around

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm glad you're all having as much fun with this story as I am. Longer chapter this time around—I had to add the diner scene in, it's too much fun :) Thanks yet again to my amazing guest beta Katiki for all her help. Off we go!

* * *

**Chapter 3: Stop Throwing Your Height Around**

"No."

"Dean—"

"NO."

"Bobby said it's the only cure."

"Yeah, well, Dean said 'no'!"

Sam looks out the passenger side window, frustrated. Dean lets him. As far as he's concerned, the conversation was over the moment he learned what ox dung had to do with his situation.

"It's probably not that bad," Sam tries, still looking out the window.

"Not that bad? Sam, it's COW shit."

"You mean ox shit."

Dean glares at him. "Horse shit, bird shit—who the hell cares what animal it comes from! It's all the same stuff. What's Bobby gonna do, huh? Shmear some oversized cow patty all over me?! Awesome. What a great weekend activity." Sam is snickering before Dean has even finished his bitching. Now he looks back at Dean, grins, and snickers some more. "Can you please not enjoy this so much?" Dean gripes.

"Sorry, it's just…the mental picture belongs in a museum," Sam says, still grinning. "YouTube at the very least." Dean glares again. Sam clears his throat. "Look, Bobby didn't say exactly how the ox dung will be…applied. He only said that it's the cure. So who knows, maybe you just ingest it or something."

Dean's eyebrows lift clear off his face. "How exactly is EATING SHIT any better?!"

Sam winces at his choice of words. "Yeah…you're right. Sorry."

"As far as I'm concerned, if shit is the shitty cure for what ails me, then I don't want to be cured."

"What? You can't be serious."

"So I'm taller—so what?" Dean challenges. "I like it." He straightens his back and flexes his arm muscles. Sam can't help but stare: his brother's already muscular arms are now massive, like a body builder's but without the unsightly, popping veins. "Drink it all in, Sammy," Dean teases, and Sam frowns at him. "I don't only look good, I feel damn good, too."

"Really," Sam asks flatly, glancing up at Dean's hair. "So you like driving with your head pressed up against the roof?"

Dean's big shoulders shrug it off. "It only hurts when we go over a bump. Besides, it just brings me closer to my baby." He rubs his hand lovingly over the steering wheel.

"You're not just taller, you're bigger, Dean. You already take up the driver's seat AND the middle seat!"

"Dude, it's a bench seat. It's all one seat."

"You know what I mean," Sam snits. "And your stupid elbow keeps hitting me every time you make a left turn." He says it just as Dean takes a sharp left turn, and sure enough, Dean's elbow smacks him in the chest. Dean notes it this time and mutters a quick apology. "It's just going to get worse," Sam tells him. Dean opens his mouth to protest, and Sam cuts him off by saying, "And no, I don't mean your driving or the elbow jabs. YOU, Dean. Bobby said some victims grew to be giants."

"Yeah, SOME. Doesn't mean it will happen to me."

"What about the headaches then? That last one nearly knocked you out cold! You shouldn't even be driving right now."

Dean concedes that point, though he doesn't say it out loud, of course. His head is killing him—it's nonstop now. And it must have sent invites to this particular pain party, because his back and now his legs are hurting as well, pulsing in time with deep, throbbing aches. Dean takes a deep breath and deals with it, in silence and on his own, just as he's always done.

"I can handle a little headache," Dean replies.

"And the seizures?" Sam asks. "Can you handle those, too?" Dean doesn't say anything this time. "If this growth thing was a good thing, there wouldn't be side effects," Sam points out.

Dean considers it for a second, and then suggests, "Maybe the headaches and all that are temporary, you know? Just part of the whole growing thing. Once I'm used to being bigger, they'll go away."

"Yeah, right. Have you seen our family's track record with happy endings? When have we EVER lucked out on anything? This is going to get bad, and you know it."

Dean stops at a red light and studies his brother. Sam looks back at him. "What?"

"You're jealous that I'm taller than you."

"WHAT?!"

"Holy shit, you are!" Dean says, pointing at him. Sam laughs, incredulity on full display, and shakes his head at his crazier-than-usual brother.

"I'm not jealous of you. That's just stupid."

"Not my fault that I've become Dean Winchester 2.0 with extra awesomesauce." Dean smiles down at Sam. "More size, more strength…I'll be kicking more ass than ever." At that, Sam gets his small knife out of his boot and makes little stabs at the air between him and Dean, and Dean's smile fades into confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to pop your ego before it suffocates us both."

Dean chuckles. "All right, fine. So then what is it that's got those sparkly panties of yours in a bunch?"

"Nothing…I'm just worried."

"About what?" Dean looks at Sam, but Sam is staring at the glove compartment. "Dude, this isn't penis envy, is it?" Sam's eyes roll to the ceiling. Dean doesn't take the hint. "Because Little Dean was never, ever little, and now that he's even less Not Little doesn't mean you should—"

"God, will you shut up?" Sam snaps. "This is serious, Dean! I'm trying to help you before it's too late and you…" Sam bites his lip and quickly looks out the window. Dean checks the light—it's still red. Then he checks on his brother. He's still quiet.

"What, Sammy?" Dean asks gently. "I'm listening. No more jokes."

Sam sighs. "People have died from this. Their hearts gave out from the stress. And I don't want…" Sam pauses and peers up at Dean's face. "I just got you back…I can't…" He looks down and shuts his eyes. "I _can't_," he whispers. "Not again."

The light turns green, and it takes a horn from the truck behind them to get Dean moving. He waves a sorry and takes off. Sam still has his eyes closed, and Dean keeps his on the road. He gives a little sigh after a few minutes of quiet driving. "S'pose you've got a point about the luck thing," Dean utters. "Even the rabbit's foot went bad, right?" Dean sees Sam smile a little at that, and he opens his eyes and looks over at his big brother. Dean raps his hands on the wheel. "All right, guess that means we're making a few stops."

"Huh? Where?"

Dean points to the newspaper at Sam's feet. "Turn to the second-to-last page. Down in the corner."

Sam opens it up and looks at the article. "Local Boy Injured by Mystery Snake Bite," he reads aloud.

"Noticed it when you were out talking to Bobby," Dean says. "We might have another hydros victim." Sam reads on as Dean summarizes. "A 9-year-old kid got admitted to the hospital the other day after his hand swelled up from a snake bite."

Sam finds that part of the article, already knowing this isn't just a normal snake bite or allergic reaction. "The child's hand swelled to ten times its normal size?" Sam both reads and asks.

"Took a few days to get there, but yeah," Dean says. "Medical mystery, nothing worked for treatment, and yet the kid went home today, all better."

"So something worked," Sam muses. "If we find out what did the trick, we can use it to cure you."

Dean smirks. "My thoughts exactly. Wow, it's like you're psychic or something." Sam smirks back. "Okay—you want hospital detail or costume design?"

"Costume design?" Sam repeats.

"My suit won't fit me anymore, remember? And besides, I don't think our usual G-men gig is the right way to play this one. So you think something up with that big brain of yours. I'll head over to the hospital and see what I can find out about the Elephant Boy."

"Uh-huh. And while you're there, I'm sure you'll be showing every cute nurse just how much bigger and better you are," Sam chides, using quote-y fingers on certain words.

Dean flashes his eyebrows. "Like I said—psychic."

He pulls the car to the curb to let Sam get out. Then Dean puts in a new tape and turns the volume up, and the Impala tears away to the strains of "Dr. Feelgood." Sam rolls his eyes and smiles as he walks in the opposite direction.

* * *

They meet up a few hours later at a donut shop—Dean's choice, of course. Sam carries a large white bag through the door and spies Dean at the end of the counter, dwarfing the other customers around him. He's grown again, Sam can tell—he's pushing 6'9" at least. His broader-than-ever shoulders are drawing the attention of every female in the room—not to mention the chagrin of the men with them. Sam walks past their excited whispers and undressing stares and sits down at the stool next to Dean.

"Hey," Sam says, putting the bag on the shelf by their feet. Dean waves a hello as he bites into a powdered donut. He gestures to the mountain of donuts on the plate in front of him, offering Sam to help himself, but Sam declines—and wonders if Dean just got started, or if this is plate number five. "So?" Sam asks. "Find anything?"

"Yeah, plenty," Dean answers, mouth full of donut, and Sam gets sprayed with powder from the 'p' in 'plenty.' Dean swallows his bite as Sam flecks the white specks from his face. "Sorry. I'll buy you a coffee." He signals the teenaged girl behind the counter for another cup, and then turns his attention back to Sam. "Kid's name is Tyler Durden. Parents must've been serious _Fight Club_ fans." The teen starts pouring Sam's coffee, staring at Dean the whole time, Sam notices. Dean doesn't—he's too busy eating another donut. He swallows this one down as the girl pours a warm-up into his mug. "Dad's some heavyweight in the local business community. He was on a trip overseas and—"

The girl overfills Dean's coffee mug, and java spills onto the counter and his plate of donuts. "I'm so sorry!" she cries, like she's just killed a puppy instead of spilling a little java. "I'll clean it up, I swear."

"Nah, it's fine," Dean replies, smiling. "Now the donuts are pre-dunked." He takes an especially soggy one and stuffs it into his mouth. The girl stops wiping and stares at his thumb and fingers as he licks them off. Sam clears his throat, and the girl snaps out of it and gets back to her washcloth, leaning WAY over to provide a clear view of her cleavage. This Dean notices, and Sam has to clear his throat again.

"And?"

"And what?" Dean asks absently.

"The father was on a business trip and…"

"And bought his son a pet snake as a souvenir," Dean finishes, getting back to business. "Pretty crappy gift if you ask me."

"So the kid gets bit by his pet snake. What kind of snake was it?"

Dean is taking a sip of his coffee, and he shakes his head no as he swallows. "That's just the problem—they weren't able to identify it. Snake got flushed after it bit the kid. But they described it as being blue with a white hood. Kinda sounds like a mini-version of the hydros we killed, doncha think?"

Sam nods as he thinks it over. "And it did get flushed away, which meant it ended up in the water system…but how did it grow so big in such a short amount of time?"

"The fact that it's a magical water snake might have a little something to do with it."

"Yeah." Sam takes a sip of his coffee and stands up. "Let's go talk to the family."

Dean pouts and looks at his plate. "But I'm not done yet."

"So? Get them to go—I don't want you outgrowing your new threads before you even get a chance to wear them. They were expensive."

"So?" Dean throws back, then adds in a hushed voice, "It's not like we're payin' for them anyway."

Sam gives a mini-frown. "It's the principle of the thing. Now come on."

Dean signals for the check, and he sees that all four of the waitresses are now standing behind the counter, checking him out. He gives Sam a broad smile, so very pleased, and Sam waves his hand in a circle, telling him to wrap things up. Dean gets his wallet out and the teenager purrs, "Oh no, honey. This one's on the house."

"Really?" Dean replies, though his voice gives away his complete lack of surprise. "What's the occasion?"

"You walking in the door," says the 30-something waitress next to her.

Dean looks over his shoulder and grins back at Sam, mouthing, "It's so ON." Sam just bitchfaces him and taps on his watch.

"Gotta go ladies, I'm sorry," he tells them, looking at each girl in turn. "All I need is a box—"

Four boxes get thrust in front of him, each with phone numbers marked on top. Sam clomps back, tosses the donuts into one of the boxes, and pulls Dean off the stool. Dean stands over him and winks back at the girls at the counter. Then he leans down and mutters into Sam's ear, "Dude, we gotta remember this place."

"Did you get the kid's address?" Sam asks, ignoring all the annoying things around him (Dean being taller, Dean being lusted after, Dean himself enjoying it all so friggin' much) as much as he can.

"'Course I did." He sees Sam get out his cell phone, no doubt to log in to a map site and find the place, and Dean stops him. "There's a faster way." Dean stands tall and looks back at the diner. "'Scuse me," he says loudly. "Anyone want to tell me how to get to…" he glances at his note, "2907 Summit Avenue from here?"

Every woman in the place shoots up her hand and starts babbling directions.

* * *

Twenty-two minutes later, the Impala finds herself in an upscale neighborhood of expensive homes, three-car garages, and pristine lawns. She's pulled to a stop at a large, all-brick home, complete with corner turret and, in the driveway, a sailboat hitched to a Mercedes SUV. Sam and Dean step out, and Dean whistles at it all.

"Twenty bucks says there's a golden-plated toilet seat somewhere in there."

Sam smirks but doesn't take the bet. They walk up the path to the door, and Sam notices Dean has his hand to his forehead. "Another headache?"

Dean nods and takes his hand away. "I'll deal." He looks down at his new jacket and admires all the official-looking patches. Sam had decided they should pretext as Federal Wildlife marshals, so both are now sporting brown, trooper-esque jackets with the letters "FWS" screen printed on the back. Sam had even ordered Dean's a few sizes too big, "so you can grow into it," he'd explained. Same with the cargo pants. Dean had to hand it to him—his brother knew how to think ahead.

They get to the front door, and Sam rings the door bell. A man in his early 40s answers, looking up at both men through his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Yes?"

"Sir, I'm Marshal Bruce, this is Marshal Clapton," Sam tells him, showing his badge as Dean shows his. "We're with the Invasive Species task force of the US Fish and Wildlife Service. Is this the Durden residence?"

"Yes, I'm Mr. Waldo Durden," the man replies coolly.

Dean breaks into a grin. "What do you know, we found Waldo." Sam throws him a bitchface. The man doesn't laugh, either, so Dean regroups. "Sorry. You must get that all the time."

"Only from pea-brains who enjoy wasting my time."

Dean blinks at the man's glare. "You're a lot nicer in the books," he mutters.

Sam jumps back in. "Sir, we've been notified about your son's recent allergy attack. We understand that it was due to a snake bite."

The man folds his arms. "Yes, but I don't see what that has to do with your department."

"The snake in question may be an invasive species—one that may pose a threat to local fish and wildlife. If you don't mind, we'd like to ask your son some questions regarding—"

"I do mind," the man sniffs. "My son was just released from the hospital this morning. He isn't taking any visitors."

"Sir, it will only take a few minutes," Dean tries. "Unless of course you want us to call this in and get the local police involved."

"Last I checked, it wasn't illegal to own a pet snake."

Dean nods. "And last I checked, it isn't exactly kosher to bribe US customs to look the other way while you sneak in a potentially dangerous reptile." The man breaks his eye-lock, and Dean and Sam share looks of 'gotcha.' "This is a serious matter, MISTER Durden," Dean snipes. "You're already looking at a number of fines, and they're not cheap. I suggest you let us come in and ask a few quick questions if you don't want me to add a few more." The man glares again, and Dean replies with his best 'try me' look. The man sighs and opens the door for the marshals. They step past him and into the front room.

"Honey, who is it?" asks a short woman—Mrs. Durden, presumably. She looks way up at Sam, then way, way up at Dean, who smiles down at her and shines his badge.

"Federal Wildlife marshals, ma'am," Sam says, showing her his badge as well. "We're here to talk to you about your recent snake troubles."

"Waldo never should have brought that thing home," she says, sounding very cross about the whole thing. Sam sees Waldo roll his eyes—obviously this is an argument they've had before.

"Tyler loves reptiles," Waldo replies, and both his face and attitude soften the moment he mentions his son's name to the marshals. "He has a turtle and two other snakes. Never had a problem before. So when I was in Seville last week and saw a merchant selling exotic snakes, I thought I'd buy one for Tyler as an early birthday present. What's wrong with that?"

"What's WRONG is that this was an accident waiting to happen," his wife hisses.

"The merchant assured me it was non-poisonous," Waldo tells Sam. "I didn't think there'd be a problem even if Tyler did get a little bite."

"A little bite?!" The woman turns to Sam like she's seeking out a sane person in a room full of crazies. "His hand started swelling up. We tried everything, but it just kept getting bigger. Like a lead balloon…" She brushes a tear away and looks at her own hands. "It got so heavy that his arm snapped. Just…snapped!" Both Sam and Dean are visibly disturbed, and the mother nods at their reactions, confirming how awful it is as more tears well in her brown eyes. "Do you have any idea what it's like to drive to the hospital and have to hold your son's gigantic hand in your lap so the bone sticking out of his arm doesn't catch on anything?"

Dean looks down, and Sam shakes his head. "No. I'm so sorry."

"Me, too. Uh…where's your bathroom?" All eyes fall on Dean, and he gives a bashful smile. "I've had a lot of coffee today…"

"Top of the stairs on the right," Waldo dismisses him. Dean nods his thanks and hustles up the stairs, big feet galumphing like a one-man stampede. Sam gets them back on track.

"Mr. Durden, did the merchant tell you what kind of snake it was?"

"He said it was an extremely rare variety of African Water Snake."

"Most snakes from Africa are poisonous," the wife comments.

"Bonnie, I already told you, he swore it wasn't."

"And you believed him?"

"Why shouldn't I? The guy had certificates and awards all over his shop! He seemed to know what he was talking about. And the moment I saw that bright blue one slither out to the front of the aquarium…gosh, I just had to get it for Tyler. I knew he'd love it. It was the only one like it there." He looks back at Sam and adds, "The merchant said collectors all over the world would kill for one of those snakes. He gave me a great deal on it!"

Bonnie mutters "I'll bet" under her breath.

"Where is the snake now?" Sam asks, trying to keep the couple focused instead of fighting.

"I made Waldo flush that thing down the toilet right after it bit Tyler," Bonnie replies.

"Took a few flushes," Waldo adds. "Decent-sized snake like that? Talk about your toilet clogs…"

"You didn't touch it at all?" Sam asks Bonnie.

Bonnie shudders. "Absolutely not. I hate snakes." Her shrill disgust floats up the stairs to Dean, who is just exiting the bathroom. "Slimy, disgusting creatures."

"They're not slimy," Dean hears a small voice reply. He looks to his left and sees a boy sitting on his bed, one arm slung in a cast. The little boy looks up at Dean and says, "They're actually smooth and soft."

Dean nods and steps into the room. "You must be Tyler." The kid nods. "I'm Dean. How's your arm?"

"Hurts," Tyler admits. "But I'll deal." He looks up at Dean. "You're really tall. Are you a basketball player?"

Dean smirks and replies, "Nope. Just really tall." Dean has a look around the room. It's filled with posters of reptiles of every kind, as well as a few drawings taped here and there, each with Tyler's name scrawled in the corner. Then Dean notices the empty aquariums—three in all. An ornate metal cage rests on the very end of the table. A small turtle is inside. "Who's your friend?"

"Bartleby. He was my Grampa's. Now he stays with me."

Dean notes the aquarium next to it. It sports a large crack along its side, a jagged hole in the bottom corner. "And what happened here?"

"That's where my pet snake Skippy used to live."

Dean looks at him. "Skippy?"

Tyler shrugs. "He looked like a Skippy."

Dean shrugs back. "Makes sense. So how did he escape?"

"He kept hitting his head against the glass until it broke. Over and over again. He didn't like being kept in an aquarium, but I couldn't put him in a terrarium like I did with Albert and Angus—they were land snakes. Skippy was a water snake. He needed water!"

"So he got out and then what?"

"He broke into the terrarium and…" Tyler looks down. Dean notes the bent wire cage and understands. Then he looks back at the turtle.

"Why didn't he go after Bartleby?" Dean wonders aloud.

"He tried," Tyler tells him. "But he bit into the shiny metal and made a funny sound…like he got hurt."

Dean goes up to the turtle's cage for a closer look. _Bronze, _he discovers, feeling along the decorations etched into the metal. Dean turns back around and gives the kid a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry Skippy ate all your other snakey friends."

"Me too. Do you have any pets?"

"I have a brother who acts like a big puppy—does that count?"

The kid smiles a little but shakes his head. "I don't like dogs. Snakes are more fun."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"They just are." He says it like it's so obvious, and Dean finds himself smiling again. Then he sees Tyler's face cloud up. "Skippy wasn't much fun though. He didn't like to be held or petted…he was always mad." Tyler looks up at him. "Can you keep a secret?" Dean nods and kneels down in front of him. "I don't think Skippy was a normal snake."

"No? Why's that?"

"Cos I know snakes," Tyler informs him, looking proud. "Most snakes don't want to fight—not even the poisonous ones. But Skippy was always biting at stuff. I'd give him new toys and new plants, and he'd chew 'em all up in no time. And he got big really fast." Tyler holds his good hand out about six inches away from his hanging hand. "He went from this," he holds his good arm out as far as it'll go, "to this in two days. I had to keep putting him in bigger cages. Daddy was mad about going to the pet store so much. But Skippy kept growing. You can't keep your snake all smooshed up in a box! He needed space and water. Lots of water."

Dean's headache picks back up, clubbing behind his forehead with new pain, and he sits down next to Tyler on the bed before he falls down on the floor. "Tyler…what happened when Skippy bit you?"

Tyler looks at his hand and flexes it. "My hand got big."

"Did it hurt?"

Tyler shakes his head. "No. It just got real big. Then it got heavy and my arm got hurt, so I had to go to the hospital."

"What did they do to make your hand all better?"

"A man came and spread this smelly black stuff all over my hand." Tyler crinkles his nose and confides, "It smelled like poop."

_Great, _Dean thinks, but he keeps his face sympathetic. "Do you remember his name?"

"Owen Phipps. I remember it cos Owen's a weird name."

_Yeah, and Skippy's so much better, _Dean thinks with a small grin_. You crack me up, kid. _"Was he a doctor?"

"I don't think so. My Dad kept calling him a 'quack.' What does that mean? He didn't look like a duck."

Dean doesn't reply—the pain in his head has gotten so intense that he's near tears. "Dean?" he hears Tyler ask. "Are you okay?" Dean tries to answer, but he slides off the bed and to his knees instead. The pain shoots through his shoulders, then doubles back and down his spine, exploding through his legs and feet. Dean hugs himself as he hears and feels fabric tearing. The seams connecting his jacket sleeves to the rest of it burst and break, Dean's grey tee-shirt pushing into view. At the same time, the inseams along the sides of his cargo pants tear, holes spreading out every few inches. Dean waits for the spurt to end, but it keeps going this time, pushing past its usual run time of a second into several. The pain bursts up, grinding through every part of him—and then it all stops. Dean puts a hand on the floor to steady himself, breathing hard. He feels a small hand on his back, and he looks into Tyler's scared little face.

"It's all right," Dean pants as the last of the pain lifts away. He shakes his head hard, trying to throw off the lingering twinges. Tyler still looks afraid, so Dean puts one of his hands on the kid's good shoulder—only to take it away as he sees just how big it is. He sits back on his knees and stares at both his hands. It's like they're not his hands anymore. They're too big…too alien. But his silver ring still sits on his right ring finger, and his watch is still on his left wrist.

"Dean…!" Tyler gasps, astonished. "Are you the Incredible Hulk?"

"No. How cool would that be though, huh?" Dean still sounds wiped, so he gives Tyler a smile to prove he's all right. "Can YOU keep a secret?" Dean asks. Tyler nods and leans his ear up to Dean. "I think what happened to your hand is happening to me," he tells him, "only all over."

"Whoa," Tyler says, face very serious. Dean nods, just as serious.

"I know." He stands up, inspecting the damage to his duds. The jacket is holding together—at least, it does until Dean stretches his cramped-up arms out. Then it splits into three pieces and falls to the floor. The pants are ripped through on either side, short tent flaps instead of pant legs. The waistline is ripped and holding on by a thread. "Sam's not gonna like this," Dean mumbles, standing all the way up. His head smacks against the ceiling. "Ow." He rubs at his newest sore spot and looks down at Tyler. Tyler looks way up at him, mouth hanging open. He barely comes up past Dean's knees.

"Hey Tyler, where's your back door?"

As Tyler leads his new friend down the back staircase (and Dean makes a mental note of how unsurprised he is that this place has TWO staircases), Sam hears his cell phone ring. He excuses himself, walks over to the other side of the room, and takes it out. He sees Dean's name and flips it open. "What the hell, man? Did you fall in?"

"No, I grew again. Slipped out the back door. Say goodbye to the Cleavers and meet me at the car."

"Wait, Dean—how much did you—" Sam gets cut off by a click, so he pockets his phone with a grumble and turns back around. "Mr. and Mrs. Durden, thank you for your time. We'll be in touch."

"What about your partner?"

"He's already outside—he went out the back. I hope you don't mind, but he had to take, um…soil samples."

"What does soil have to do with a pet snake?" Waldo asks. Sam stops trying to come up with excuses and opens the front door, just in time to see Dean—all 8 feet of him—race to the car. He waves for Sam to stall as he pulls the passenger door open—and very nearly pulls it off. Sam mutes a loud "DAMMIT!" from his brother as he shuts the door to a crack. "Mrs. Durden, would you mind writing down the names of the doctors Tyler saw? We'd like a word with them as well."

She nods and goes to fetch a pen. Mr. Durden takes the opportunity to walk up to Sam, taking out his wallet as he does so.

"How much to make this go away?" he asks, sounding almost bored, like he's expected to ask it. Sam jumps as the horn honks, and he takes a peek outside. Dean's very long legs are halfway into his jeans, and both legs and jeans are hanging out of the car. He honks again—by accident, Sam realizes—as he struggles to pull them on before anyone sees him.

"SON of a BI—"

Sam slams the door shut and fakes a cough to cover up the rest of the bellow. The man tries to look past him and through the narrow window panes on either side of the door.

"What's going on out there?"

"Nothing. What were we talking about?"

The man gives him a snide look, and then goes to a cigar box in the corner. He walks it back over to the marshal, opens it, and presses money into Sam's hand. There's at least a grand there. Sam gapes back at Waldo, but he puts his hand up. "I don't want to hear about you not taking bribes. Just take it and leave my family alone."

The horn beeps again—repeatedly this time, so definitely not an accident. Sam pockets the money and opens the door. Mrs. Durden returns with a post-it note, and Sam snags it from her hand. "Thank you again for your time," he stammers, rushing out the door. Sam jogs down to the car and sees Dean on the passenger side. He's got the bench seat so far back that he's practically sitting in the back seat. His shoulders are pressed against the roof, his head and neck hanging down in his cradled hands. Sam opens up the driver's door and squishes himself in next to Dean—his brother takes up three-quarters of the seat now.

"You okay?" Sam asks.

"No," Dean groans. "Just shut the door and get moving. We have to find a guy named Owen Phipps. He's the one that cured Tyler." Dean waits to feel the car moving underneath him, but he just hears it idling, so he looks at Sam. "What? Go!"

"I can't."

"Why the hell not?"

Sam looks embarrassed. "I can't reach the pedal."

Dean leans over and sees Sam's big feet straining for the gas pedal, but falling a few inches short. Dean grumbles, grunts, sucks in a breath, and shifts the seat closer. His chin is forced over his elbows, which push out over the dashboard. His knees are smooshed up between the dash and his ribs. Dean turns his face to Sam and scowls. "Hurry up before I suffocate," he gasps.

Sam floors the pedal and they take off.

Neither one of them notices the man in the van across the street. They didn't see him pull up while they were in the house. They don't see him start the van and follow behind them now. And they have no way of knowing he's just called someone on his cell to tell them they may have "another person of interest."


	4. Dead End at Wit's End

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I had surgery recently, and I needed time to recoop and regroup. So enjoy this longish, chunky-style chapter—it's my way of saying thanks for being patient :) And thanks as always for reading and for the reviews. And extra thanks to Katiki for guest beta-ing again!

* * *

**Chapter Four: Dead End at Wit's End**

After only 15 minutes of driving his overgrown brother through town, Sam feels like he's lived an awkward lifetime of squished limbs and grunted small talk. Dean keeps his head and face buried in his arms, whether out of pain or the inability to move into a more comfortable position, Sam doesn't know, though he suspects it's both. Not that Sam is comfy, either: smooshed sideways into the door by his brother's girth, he has to drive with his left knee up by his chest and his right foot straining for the pedals. He's shifting his crooked shoulders around when he accidentally takes them over a pothole.

"Shit, sorry," Sam says right away. "I know, I know, watch where I'm going, avoid potholes like landmines, the car drives better than I do…" He braces for the rest of the lecture about mistreating the Impala, but it never comes. Dean doesn't say a word. Doesn't even look up.

_That's not good. _Sam peers over at the hulking form next to him. "Dean?" Sam tries, though he knows he won't get any answer. Sure enough, Dean's only response is to rub his forehead against his wrists. _Took three months to get him to admit that he remembered Hell, _Sam thinks, recalling Washington and Dean's partial confession at the dock. _Wonder how long he'll try and hide this new hurt from me? _Sam shakes his head. He could fill a book with lists of what topics, words, and even looks will make Dean shut down, yet he still couldn't tell you how to make Dean open up. Sam sighs quietly. Sometimes it sucks knowing another person so well.

He runs them through every stop light no matter what the color, guessing what kind of odd picture they must paint, and not wanting anyone to see. And no one does see, as far as Sam can tell, sharp hazel eyes watching for any double takes or dropping jaws. The motel finally comes into view, and the Impala eases to a stop in front of their room. Sam pushes the bench seat back as far as it will go, and Dean takes in a deep, though shaky, breath. Sam puts his hand on his brother's large shoulder. "Hey." Dean flinches at the touch, and Sam takes his hand away for a moment before gently placing it back. "You feel up to moving?"

Dean shakes his head, still hiding it in his hands. "Where are we?"

"The motel."

Dean's head turns, and his left eye peeks into view and looks at Sam. "I thought we were going after that Owen Phipps guy?"

"I'm going after him," Sam clarifies. "YOU are going to get some rest."

Dean pushes away from the dashboard, though he doesn't get far; his back is still pressed against the roof. But he lifts up enough so he can give Sam a tired sort of glare. _Now he'll tell me he's fine, _Sam thinks.

"I don't need rest, I'm fine," Dean says on cue.

"Well you're still not coming," Sam tells him. "You were at least eight feet tall when you got in the car, Dean, and you've been growing the whole drive. You can't exactly pass for normal anymore." _Now he'll tell me he never was normal and we'll be arguing for the next—_

A barely audible "Okay" from Dean interrupts Sam's thoughts. Sam stares at him, but Dean only looks at his amulet as he opens the car door. He leans to his right, the car sagging from his weight. Dean's head ducks down as his very broad back pushes forward—and catches in the door frame. His shoulders are jammed. Dean grumbles and tries to shake them free, and the car shakes with him. He attempts to lean back in, but the car won't give, and neither will his shoulders.

"Son of a bitch…" Dean puts his boots on the pavement and digs in as he pushes, trying to pry himself from the car's grip.

"Dean, I'm not sure that's the best—"

Dean stumbles forward with the car still attached to his shoulders. The Impala rolls right and down into a sharp angle, and Sam is slammed into his brother's back. Dean catches a glimpse of himself in their motel room window's reflection: He looks like a hermit crab, only with a big Chevy on his back instead of a shell. The passenger door slaps him in the thigh as it hangs in the air.

"Sam?"

"Yesh?" Sam says into Dean's blue shirt.

"I think I'm stuck."

"No kidding." He pushes an arm's length away from Dean's back and mutters, "Can't take you anywhere."

Dean bends his knees and sits down, gently setting the car back on the pavement. Sam rolls away and gets out of the car before Dean decides to try anything else. He goes to the motel door and gets the room keys out.

"Hey don't bother helping me or anything," Dean sasses.

"I'm just getting some soap, smartass," Sam throws back as he opens the door. "You know, suds up your shoulders so you can slide free."

"Forget it. You get any of that soap on the paintjob and she might chip."

Sam looks at him, incredulous, and steps away from the room. "MIGHT chip," he repeats, walking past the hood of the car. "You'd rather stay stuck than risk chipping the paint?"

"Have we met?" Dean asks, giving Sam his best 'doi' face.

"Whatever. I'll just get the crowbar out of the trunk and pry the roof off." Sam grins as Dean glares.

"That's not funny."

"Come on, it's a little funny," Sam zings back, grinning even wider as Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeh-hes, finally got to use that on you!"

"It's funnier when I say it," Dean responds, SO not amused. Sam is still grinning as he walks around to Dean's right.

"Okay, hold still. Oh right! You can't move."

"Wow, you're almost funny. Congrats." Dean cracks his knuckles and holds up his right fist, now the size of a large mace. "Now shut your noise hole and help me."

"Fine." Sam throws his weight into his right arm and presses down on the back of Dean's neck, trying to get him to duck down and break free, but Dean doesn't budge. Sam then tries pulling Dean by his arm, but gives up when his shoes start sliding around on the pavement as Sam pivots and turns and tugs and manages to get Dean absolutely nowhere. Sam bends over, hands on his knees as he pants, and he glances at his brother, expecting Dean to tease him about getting weak. But Dean is quiet, looking down at the ground instead of at Sam. _Dean…are you embarrassed? _Sam asks him in his mind. He dismisses his own thoughts. _Nah._ _Dean doesn't get embarrassed. Must be something else—shoulders cramping or stomach rumbling. _Sam looks at him again just as Dean shifts his gaze to the motel, the bushes, the motel's sign—everything but Sam. _Holy shit, he IS embarrassed! _Sam realizes_. _He searches for the right thing to say, but decides it's probably best not to call attention to Dean's obvious discomfort.

"Dude, we'll get you out," Sam promises, clapping him on one of his oversized knees. Dean's eyes drift up and he nods his head once. Then Sam takes Dean's left hand in both of his smaller ones and puts his left shoe against Dean's right shin. "I'll pull, you push. Ready?" Dean nods. "Go." Sam heaves, and Dean shoves. They both feel him move. "Again," Sam instructs, bending at the knees so he can really dig in when he pulls. Dean clenches his teeth and presses forward, and Sam pushes into Dean's leg and the ground as he pulls with all his might. With a great lurch, Dean pops free, and Sam goes flying backward into the bushes. The same hand that had been used to pull Dean out now offers itself to Sam to help him up.

"Sorry," Dean murmurs. Sam takes his hand and stands up—and looks up, only now able to appreciate how big Dean has become in just a few minutes. Sam's only as tall as the middle of Dean's chest now, and Dean's torso and shoulders are broad enough to block Sam out entirely from view. Dean sees it too but doesn't say anything. Instead he stretches his arms up. "Now I know how sardines feel," he tells Sam, rocking his elbows back and forth to ease out the tension in his shoulders. He turns to look at the car, and his arm smacks Sam again, sending him back to the bushes. Dean cringes and looks down at him. "Sorry…again."

Sam helps himself up this time. "It's all right. Just watch what you're—"

"SHIT, the wheels!" Dean yelps. He whirls to his left—smacking Sam to the ground a third time—and kneels down in front of the passenger-side front tire. "If I bent the rims, I'll kick my own ass," he swears, tracing the hubcaps with his fingers. "You all right, baby?"

Sam steps up next to him, brushing the leaves and sticks off his shirt. "I'm fine, by the way."

Dean looks up and smiles. "Thank God." Sam smiles back, touched, but Dean points to the wheels. "The rims are fine. Tires just lost a little air." Sam's smile drops. Dean stands back up, oblivious, and opens the back passenger-side door. "Think we passed a gas station back that way. Grab some more beer after you air up the tires, all right?" Dean grabs the cooler out of the back seat and heads for the room, while Sam glares daggers into Dean's big back. "And don't over-inflate again," Dean barks over his shoulder. "They're tires, not balloons, hear me?"

Sam's about to remark about all the hot air in Dean's head when he sees the motel owner step out of the office. Sam races forward and kicks Dean in the ass, sending his brother rolling into the room. Sam pulls the door shut and waves to the approaching man. On the other side of the door, he hears Dean yell, "Dude, you KICKED me! What the fuck is your—"

"Afternoon!" the motel owner calls, looking over the Impala as he steps up next to Sam. "So you're the one driving this gorgeous lady. What is she, a `67, `68, `round there?"

"Something like that," Sam says on purpose, looking at the room's door. "It's my brother's car, actually. Loves it like it's his girlfriend. I think he'd make out with it if he could—maybe he has already, who knows. Oh and one time, I caught him waxing it with a diaper." There's a muffled cry of outrage from the room, and Sam knocks his fist against a point near the middle of the door. He hears a weight fall away from the other side, followed by a muted "…I hate you." Sam smiles and looks back at the motel owner, who only has eyes and attention for the car. Just as Sam suspected.

"She's a beaut," the man tells him, smiling in admiration. "Though it looks like you're riding a little low…" He points to the tires.

"Yeah, I was just on my way out to fix that. My brother isn't feeling the best right now so the car care falls to me."

"There's a service station up the road," the owner informs him. "They'll take good care of ya."

"Thanks."

The man whistles, and a big sled dog rushes out from the other side of the motel. "Walk time," the owner tells Sam. "Nice talking to you. Come on, Bax."

The man and his dog turn their backs to Sam and the Impala, and Sam lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He hurries back to the room and slides inside. Dean's blue button-down shirt is on the bed, but Dean himself is nowhere to be seen. Then Sam hears the faucet running.

"You're an asshole, know that?" Dean shouts from the bathroom. Sam laughs as he sits down on his bed, and Dean peeks around the corner and looks out at him, face dripping with soapy water. "How many times do I have to tell you—it wasn't a diaper, it was a big BRA."

"How is that any better?" Sam replies. Dean rolls his eyes and disappears back into the bathroom. Sam checks off another point on his Argument Victory scorecard before changing the subject. "So Owen Phipps. What are you thinking, whackjob? Alchemist? International Man of Mystery?"

Dean peeks out again as he dries his face with a towel; it looks more like a washcloth in his big hands. "Tyler said that his dad called the guy a quack, but whoever he is, he knows what he's doing. Used ox dung to cure him." Dean makes a 'yuck' face. "Yay, I can't wait for it to be my turn."

"Did you find anything specific in the kid's medical record?"

Dean lumbers out of the bathroom, head ducked low so he doesn't hit the ceiling. "Just that he was visited by a herpetologist."

"Reptile scientist," Sam 'translates.'

"Gee, thanks, I already figured that out," Dean glares. "ANYway. Tyler's records said that he was cured with anti-venom, and we know that's a lie."

"Probably covering their tracks in case there's a law suit," Sam ventures. "Better to write in a known cure than pencil in 'ox dung' right?"

"Whatever gets you through the night, I guess." Dean rolls and crashes back-first onto his bed. The bed's frame breaks on impact, slamming him and the mattress flat onto the floor. Sam smirks but says nothing. Dean puts an arm over his eyes and mutters, "Just what I need, something else that hurts."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Dean knows Sam heard him, and Sam knows Dean knows he heard him, but Sam doesn't press, and Dean doesn't elaborate. Sam just gets up. "Think we'll let Waldo Durden handle the bill on this one." Dean peeks out as Sam takes the large wad of cash out of his pocket. "Shush money." Sam flips through the bills. "Extra cash for extra shush."

"Sammy…" Dean looks at him with mock disgust. "Are you telling me you accepted a bribe?"

Sam shrugs. "If he hadn't brought that snake home, none of this would've happened, so I figured hey…why not. Least he can do is pay for our expenses."

Dean laughs and sits up. "Hey, don't justify it! I'm proud of you!" He claps Sam on his shoulder, and Sam's knees buckle at the weight. Dean pretends he doesn't notice and instead rubs his thumb and fingers together in the universal 'gimme money' gesture. "Leave me some order-out cash. I feel a pizza delivery coming on."

Sam thumbs through the money and leaves a few bills on the table. "Try and spare me a slice. I'll be hungry by the time I get…back." Dean lies back down as Sam is speaking, face stony. Only his squished-up eyes belie the pain. Sam steps over Dean's long legs and big feet and goes to his backpack, retrieving the pill bag.

"Here," he tosses it on the bed next to Dean. "But don't take any of the heavy stuff if you're going to drink. I don't want to drag your OD'd-ass to the hospital, all right?" Dean doesn't say anything, just nods that he heard him. Sam heads for the door. "I'm going to try Tyler's doctor—see if he knows how to contact Phipps. I'll call once I hear anything." Dean still doesn't say anything. Sam studies him for a moment, worried. "Dean…you going to be all right?"

Dean looks up at last. "Hmm? Yeah, yeah…I'll be fine." Dean waves him off. "Just fill the tires before the rims bend if YOU want to be fine." Then he adds in a softer, more caring voice, "And be careful. I know it's just an info run, but…still. Can't exactly drive to your rescue right now, y'know?"

Sam nods and gives a little smile. "Try and get some sleep." Sam opens the door, though he pauses in the doorway and looks back at Dean, unsure if he should leave his brother when he's this unstable. "Call me if you need anything—and I mean ANYthing."

Dean's smirk opens up. "Sorry, Sammy, you're just not my type, no matter how much you wish you were."

"Hilarious."

Sam steps out the door and locks it behind him. Dean waits until he hears the Impala rumble away before he lets out the cry of pain he's been holding in since he broke the bed: his back and shoulders are killing him. He twists and strains to look at his back, sure he'll find blood and plank-sized splinters cutting into him, but his shirt is clean. Groaning, Dean stands up, ducking very low so he doesn't smack his head for the fifth time today. He makes his way over to the room's mirror and lifts his t-shirt up as he turns around. Then he looks over his shoulder to inspect the damage. There isn't any—at least, nothing visible, save for his entire body being bigger, and no longer in a good way.

_Lot can change in an hour, _he thinks, picturing all the women in the donut shop. There's no longer desire in their eyes—only disgust. They turn away from the freak while the men in the shop push him away, threatening to burn him if he tries to come back. _And I can't blame them. _Dean's green eyes meet their reflection. _I'd do the same thing._

Pulling his tee back down, he moves to the desk, where his leather jacket is draped over the chair. He reaches two fingers into the inner pocket and pulls his cell phone out.

"Just order some comfort." Dean takes the phone back to the flattened bed and sits down, grabbing the phone book from the drawer of the nightstand. He picks a random pizza joint and punches in the number. The phone replies with a shrill series of tones, and an automated voice tells him the number doesn't exist. "What? Yes it does, look!" He holds the phone up to the book, like the phone will see for itself. He dials again, and this time he sees the problem: his bigger-than-usual thumb is pressing four buttons at a time. Dean shuts the cell off and grabs the room phone, but even its slightly larger buttons don't help him. Dean slams the receiver down. The guts of the phone spew out on impact, buttons popping out like electronic eyes.

"Aw come on, I already have a headache…" Ducking his head again, he plods over to the cooler and takes out a beer. He centers his ring over the cap and pulls back in a smooth, well-practiced move—only this time, the beer bottle breaks at the neck, dumping foam and beer over his hands and onto the floor. Dean looks down at the sudsy puddle and sighs.

"This sucks."

He turns to grab another and forgets to duck, so his head smacks the ceiling. Again. Dean winces, sighs, and slumps down on his flat mattress.

_Now I know why the Hulk is so pissed off all the time_, Dean sulks. _Ceilings are too low. Hands are too big. All the friggin' pain…_ He looks down at his shirt and jeans and manages a brief smile. _Least I'm not rockin' the tattered clothes look. Score one for Winchester_ _`79._

He puffs out some air through his mouth and stands up carefully, mindful of the ceiling. "Come on, Dean," he tells himself. "Enough with the damn pity party. Get some food in ya, then some beer, and deal." He grabs the phone and racks his brain for a moment, then rummages through his duffel. He finds his prize at the bottom: a pen. Then, cell phone in one hand, pen in the other, he taps out the number of the pizza place. The ringing sound of victory soon hits his ear.

"That's more like it."

Soon a fleet of five Chicago Style pies with extra meat and onions is on its way. "Thank you Sammy for not being chintzy," Dean says to the money on the table. Then he turns his attention to the beer. He remembers the room's ice bucket, so he finds it and cracks the beer bottles open over it, letting the contents spill into a makeshift cup even his stupid big hands can hold.

"Now some entertainment." Using the pen on the remote, he taps the channel button until he finds a classic Saturday afternoon time-waster: a Godzilla movie marathon on the Sci-Fi channel. "Just need a chair..." He looks at the desk chair. "One I can actually use." Turning around, he grabs what remains of his bed's frame, sticks his head out the door to make sure no one is looking, and tosses the broken springs and wooden pieces up onto the roof. Then he pushes the mattress partially up against the wall, shaping it into a lounging cushion. He grabs his bucket o' beer, sits down against his lounger, and lifts his drink to toast.

"To coping with crap," he says, and downs a few well-earned sips.

An hour later, his stomach is growling so loud that he has to up the volume on the TV. His head is still buzzing with its own pain, but it's the Must Eat message that has Dean's full attention now. He checks his watch. _Knew I should've ordered thin crust…Chicago_ _Style always takes longer._

There's a knock at the door. "Pizza delivery."

Dean grins and says to the ceiling, "Heh, Cas…you and the Big Guy really do have my back, huh." Elated, Dean sets his beer on the nightstand and crawls over to the door. He knocks back. "Yeah, just leave it outside, all right? I'll slide the money under the door."

"I'm not supposed to leave the pizza outside," the delivery guy tells him, sounding bored. "I'm sposda hand the pizza directly TO the customer and take the money directly FROM the customer. That's how it works. So open up, man."

Dean goes up on his knees and leans against the door as he double-checks that it's still locked. "Uh, no…you can't come in."

"Why not?"

"Cos, um…" Dean looks himself over, trying to think up something better than 'Cos I'll scare the shit out of you, that's why.' Another knock at the door.

"Dude? Still there?"

"Yeah, and you still can't come in. I'm naked." He grimaces at the lame excuse—this stupid, unending headache is keeping him from coming up with anything better. "Yeah. Naked. And I'm doing naked stuff."

"Naked stuff?" the delivery guy repeats, sounding considerably less bored. "Like what?"

Dean throws a look at the door. "What's it to you?!" There's an awkward moment of silence. Dean breaks it by stuffing the money under the door. "There. Leave food, take money, keep change. Think you can handle that, chief?"

"Whatever…"

Dean peeks through the blinds to make sure the guy is leaving. As soon as the delivery car leaves the parking lot, Dean throws the door open, grabs the five pizza boxes, and slams the door shut. It goes off its hinges and falls into the room. "Dammit, be careful," he reminds himself, lifting the door back up and setting it back inside its hinges. Then he slides the pizzas over to his mattress chair and sets the mountain of napkins on Sam's bed. "Won't be needing those…" He lifts two heavenly slices out of the top box and sets them on top of the napkins, telling himself what an amazing brother and generous person he is for letting Sam have not one, but TWO slices. Then he digs in with his big hand, scoops about half the pizza up, and opens his mouth.

His phone rings.

His head drops back.

"Awesome timing, Sam. Awesome." Dean puts the pizza back in the box with extreme reluctance, licking his fingers while picking up the cell with his free-and-clean hand. "Hey. How goes the search?"

"Nowhere," Sam complains into his brother's ear. "All I got from Tyler's doctor was the contact card our mystery herpetologist gave him. Checked the creds—they're all fake, of course, so I tried the number. It went through to some butcher shop in Skokie."

"Reptiles—the other other OTHER white meat," Dean smirks. "Or maybe it's more green…grey maybe?

"Well I didn't order any lizard steaks, so gee, I guess we'll never know. How are you feeling?"

"Peachy. Pizza just got here. Saved you some. Could use a visit from Jack if you want to pick him up at the liquor store…"

"I already bought you beer at the gas station. No whiskey till you finish your beer."

"You're so mean," Dean pouts.

"And you're so needy."

Dean smiles, knowing that Sammy's got his smile on as well. "I'll be back in a little while," Sam says. "Want to check on one last thing before I declare a dead end on this Phipps guy."

"Take your time," Dean tells him. "I'm watching _Mothra_ _vs. Godzilla_—that's the last one where Godzilla is the bad guy."

"I thought Godzilla was always the bad guy."

"Only in the first three flicks—well, four, if you count _King Kong vs. Godzilla. _After that he becomes Japan's protector, fighting the other monsters."

"Well enjoy, man. I'll be back soo—"

"I always thought Mothra was a lame idea for a monster," Dean informs Sam. "Even when I was a kid. I mean, it's a big moth. Ooh. How's a moth supposed to protect a city from a big lizard that can spew fire and shoot laser beams from his eyes? Oh yeah, that's right, it DOESN'T—her freakin' bug babies stop Godzilla. Stupid."

"If it's so stupid, why are you watching the movie?"

Dean sits straight up. "Dude, you did not just call a Godzilla movie stupid. Because it's NOT STUPID. None of them are. In fact, you're stupid if you think they're stupid!"

"…But you just said—"

"Ooh there's the mini chicks," Dean interrupts. A lusty grin crosses his face as two very petite Japanese women come on screen. "See, Mothra is watched over by these Barbie-sized twins in short little dresses."

"That's great, Dean."

"Tight…clingy little dresses…"

"Dean…"

"You know, one of my earliest fantasies involved those mini chicks. They'd crawl up on me and sneak down under my pants and—"

"Dean! Really don't want to know!"

Dean pulls the phone away from his ear (which is now ringing from Sam's shout), frowns at it, and puts it back. "Are you seriously telling me the idea of two tiny girls using your junk as a stripper pole doesn't get you off?" A click and a dial tone hit his ear. Dean shakes his head. "Sometimes I'm amazed we're even related…" Resettling himself against his mattress chair, Dean puts the pizza boxes back on his lap. "Now where were we?"

On the television, his miniature Busty Asian Beauties start to sing. By the time their little song is over, all of the pizza boxes are empty. Dean slides low and pulls his arms over his head, resting his head against them. Full stomach, relaxed body, and a headache temporarily hidden by the food coma that's enveloping him in happy calm: life, for this briefest of moments, is good. His eyelids soon droop and close.

The nightmares begin almost immediately.

Darkness. Screaming.

_No. Please. Not again. I just want to sleep._

The acrid smell of burning flesh.

_Don't make me do this. I need to rest…one fuckin' moment of peace, PLEASE!_

He's ignored.

The sights he knows so well ripple into view around him. Massive walls around a small cave of a room. Floor covered in blood and shit. Bars, thick and black, that cut through rays of red light near the top of a heavy door. His prison cell, torture chamber, and body reassembly area, all in one. Hell knows how to economize.

The despair hits him before the pain. Hope, after all, was the very first thing they took from him. The pain was always secondary to that gaping hole. It still is.

He's nailed to a rack, one rusty metal spike through each shoulder, another through each knee. Keeps the squirming down, one of his torturers told him once. There's a clamp around his throat, choking him as it forces his chin up.

It's when the walls glow red that he tries to wake himself up.

_You're out, Dean. The angel saved you. This is a nightmare. Wake up._

It never works.

The walls melt as lava, and he's exposed, naked and brittle, to the full anguish of Hell. Fires fed by the affliction of the Damned. Shadows deepened by smoke and ash. A roar of a multitude crashes over him. It's why he always jumps now when he hears a crowd cheering at a home run or a touchdown. Only there's no joy here, no celebration. Just torment. Pleas to stop, prayers for mercy, all drowned out by the screams. Always the screams. The one constant in Hell.

A knife slashes through his face, and he adds his voice to the tortured throng. Tears sting his cried-out eyes, blurring the face of his latest attacker. Just as the blob raises its arm for another strike, the ground starts to rumble. Everything in the Pit falls silent.

The Pit _never_ falls silent.

All at once, a new terror: water. It shoots from every tunnel in the labyrinth, washing away every demon and dark soul. Every torture device is broken or swept away. Every fire is put out. But this isn't rescue. He knows better.

A dark wave rises up in front of him, and soon he's torn from the rack and swimming. His scorched skin cools. His wounds clean and heal up. But this isn't relief. He knows better.

Rushed along a flooded tunnel, he soon gets dropped into a bigger cavern. There's a light at the bottom, as tiny as it is far away. Hope? Salvation? Probably neither, but it's the first pure light in a seeming lifetime. He reaches his arms out and swims. His strength returns and builds, filling him up. The cavern grows smaller. He keeps his eyes on the light. His fingers grasp out to touch it. It swallows him whole.

He's in another tunnel. The water level here has begun to fall. He doesn't want the water to go. He doesn't know why. It just can't.

It gets lower. His heart sinks. The water can't go. He needs it. More than light or air or hope.

It gets lower still, down to his waist. He dives down and starts to swim. More water. He must find more water.

Panic grips his heart. His knees hit the floor of the tunnel. It's smooth and cold. He pushes to his feet and starts running. Water. Find more water.

The tunnel starts to narrow as the water becomes a trickle. His feet slap the puddles as his head hits the tunnel ceiling. Space. He needs space. Water. Space and water.

His path becomes a small tube. No space no water. A dead end greets him. He pushes forward, skin scraping along the tube's edges. He hears water on the other side. Water and echoes. Water and space.

_Let me in._

The tube closes in all around him. He pounds on the wall.

_Let me IN!_

He throws himself against the wall.

"LET ME IN!"

Dean jolts awake and calms his thrashing arms. Beads of cold sweat drip from his face, and he wipes it off with his inner arm and t-shirt sleeve. Sledgehammers are banging on drums in his head, and every muscle and joint aches. He rolls to his right so he can stand up. Only he can't stand up. He's somehow been stuffed into a miniature version of their motel room, complete with tiny TV, itty bitty pizza boxes, and a pint-sized Sam lying against the wall next to Dean's mattress.

Lying face down, passed out, and bleeding against the wall next to Dean's mattress.

"Sam?" He reaches forward with his left hand, which is now bigger than Sam's head, and gently nudges him so he rolls over and onto his back. Blood is gushing out of his nose and from a big cut across his forehead.

There's also a smear of blood on the back of Dean's hand, close to his wrist.

_No…please tell me I didn't… _

His eyes go back to Sam, who now seems as fragile as an egg. _And I'm a wrecking ball. Nice one, Dean, you giant asshat. _Every instinct is telling him to get Sam sitting up, press a wet cloth to his face and clean up the blood, stitch up the cut, put a beer in his hand, take CARE of him. But he can't. He won't even chance an ear on the kid's chest to listen for a heart beat, much less use his thumb to move a pillow under his head. He's done enough damage.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he whispers. "I don't know what happened, I just…you know I didn't mean, I'd never—!" Dean shuts his trap and glares inward at himself. There's no point in apologizing. Sam can't hear him anyway, and Dean knows nothing he could say would make things right.

"Just wake up," he both pleads and orders. "Sooner you're awake, sooner you can get the hell away from me."

With that, he brings his knees up and hugs them to his chest, curling his arms around them as he tries to make himself as small as possible. It doesn't make much difference, but at least there's space between his dangerous body and his bleeding brother. It's a start.

The headaches start in again, guilt joining in on the pained percussion, and his heavy head leans down and rests against his knees.

Outside their room, a man in a van marvels at the infra-red images on the monitors. He taps into a secure line and sends the following message:

_Subject now approximately 15 feet in height. Has injured one person, possibly more. Will continue to monitor. Request containment unit on stand-by._


	5. The Thing with the Deal and the Guy

**Deanzilla** **vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal **(continued)

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

**A/N:** I know, it's been forever, but hey, YOU try writing crack, even angsty crack, when the show is stabbing you in the heart and twisting the knife every week! So thank goodness for the last two happier eps, or I never would've been able to get back in the saddle again. So here we are. I'll be updating much more regularly again from now on :) Thanks as always to Katiki for beta-ing this ca-razy story. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Five: The Thing With the Deal and the Guy and the Pie Truck**

Sam is nearly back to the motel when his cell goes off. He fishes it out and looks at a number he doesn't recognize. Frowning, he clicks on it and answers.

"Hello?"

"**Who are you."** A demand, not a question. It's delivered by someone who is English and owns a voice concealer, and not a very good one: he sounds like a B-movie villain, and Sam smirks as he wonders if the next question will be about the location of the secret microfilm.

"**WHO ARE YOU?"** the cartoonish, English, wannabe-bad-guy voice yells into his ear. "**And how did you get this number?"**

"You called me," Sam points out.

"**YOU called ME first."**

Sam's about to hang up on the lunatic when something occurs to him: the butcher shop. The fake business card from the herpetologist. "Is this Owen Phipps?" Silence. Sam holds the cell between his cheek and shoulder as he pulls the wheel around for a sharp left turn. "Mr. Phipps, I'm Marshal Bruce, with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. I'm investi—"

"**Bollocks. If you're with the U.S.** **Government, then I'm Father Christmas. Now who are you?"**

"Please, Mr. Phipps, I need your help."

"**ANSWER THE QUESTION!" **

"I told you, I'm Marshal Bruce," Sam insists, trying to keep his cool. An aggravated sigh blasts his ear.

"**Fine.** **We'll do this the hard way."**

The world goes purple, and an unseen blow smacks Sam's skull from behind, sending his forehead into the steering wheel. The car swerves, and Sam pulls over before he hits anyone. Another slam, this time from the inside—his brain feels like it's being squeezed. A presence weighs down on him.

_Who are you REALLY—tell me! _the presence orders. Sam musters up his will and pushes back. The invasive force switches from squeezing to peeling. Random flashes of memory pop up behind Sam's eyes: Dean reading a newspaper at breakfast that morning, Sam putting their guns back in the trunk some random night, both of them laughing their much younger asses off the first time they saw the sign for "Butte, Montana," followed immediately by an older, clearly disappointed Dean as they drive past "Now Leaving Intercourse" in Pennsylvania.

_Have guns, will travel to oddly named places, _the presence comments.

_Get out of my head, _Sam snarls, pushing as hard as he's able, but the presence remains.

_Not yet. Still trying to figure out if you're a baddie or not…_

Sam cries out as his head rips open—metaphorically—and memories spill out like a dropped deck of cards. Hunting chasing running teasing driving sleeping eating stitching shooting lying crying laughing worrying protecting defending dying.

Dying…

The picture freezes on Sam hugging his brother's bloodied corpse. The presence is as shocked as Sam is incensed.

_Get out. _The dark energy inside Sam churns with his emotions.

_Look at that, _the presence says, sounding both sympathetic and fascinated. _Your brother…that's your brother, isn't it…dying right in front of you._

_Get. OUT, _Sam seethes. _I'm not telling you again. _The memory rewinds despite the warning, and Sam watches the invisible claws tearing into Dean, Lilith enjoying every second of it.

_What on earth? Is that a demon in the corner? What's attacking your brother? _

Dean writhes on the floor, screaming as his life is torn away. Sam is filled with the same rage and helplessness as he felt that day. The dark energy surges up inside him, pushing through every nerve until it's raw with anticipation. Lilith laughs, Dean screams, and Sam just stands there…just _stands _there, watching it all happen.

_Why aren't you stopping it? _the presence asks. A simple question. An explosive answer. The dark energy rips through Sam's mind, Anger and Hurt fueling the fire that spreads out and cauterizes the emotional wounds that will never heal. The presence is blown away by the firestorm. Sam keeps pushing even when it's out. Nothing can get in. He can't allow it. The pain must be kept in check at all times—

"Sam Winchester," says a small voice on the phone. Sam looks down at the seat, not realizing he ever dropped the phone, and drops of blood hit the leather. His nose is bleeding badly. He wipes some of the blood away with the back of his hand, and his brain starts to throb, pulsing in time with his gushing nostrils. Sam pinches his nose shut and picks up the phone with his other hand.

"Sam Winchester?" the voice asks, sounding just as it did in Sam's mind: still English, but without the stupid voice concealer. "I can't believe it…Sam Winchester, on the phone if not in the flesh…" The voice laughs, relieved, shocked. "Christ I'm sorry for putting you through that, but I had to be sure. People are after me and I couldn't—"

"Is this Owen Phipps or not," Sam grumps, head still throbbing and nose still bleeding. "I need to know if this headache was worth it."

"Yes, I'm Owen. And don't think you're the only one nursing a bad head right now...Tamara never told me you were psychic. And yes," he interrupts just as Sam opens his mouth to speak, "THAT Tamara. I've been some help to her and a few other hunters back home from time to time. She told me about you and Dean and your friend Bobby Singer. Small world, eh?" The cheer leaves his voice when he speaks again. "I'm so very sorry about your brother. I didn't mean to reopen that wound—I just had to be sure you were you."

"It's all right," Sam dismisses. Even though he's still pissed at Owen for diving into his privacy (_I think you mean your 'utter failure,'_ Sam's inner voice charges), he knows he needs the guy fully on their side. "And Dean's all right, too. He's back."

"Back? But I heard he went to Hell! How does anyone…" There's a pause, then suspicion leaks through the phone. "Unless you tapped into that power inside you and…intervened on his behalf?"

Sam squirms in his seat, his pounding head not making Owen's suspicion about Sam's abilities _(make that 'secret and shame'_ his inner voice corrects) any easier to hear. "I had nothing to do with getting Dean back," Sam admits, sounding every bit as bitter as he feels. _Couldn't save him, couldn't bring him back, _Sam thinks before his inner critic speaks.

"Mm, don't ask, don't tell," Owen surmises. "Fine, I won't press. But I have to be honest: I thought I had talent, but I'm not even close to your level. Outside of demons, I've never felt ANYthing like that! How is it that you're—"

"Look, I need your help," Sam says, changing the subject as he pulls back into traffic. "My brother was exposed to hydros venom."

"Another one? Honestly, how difficult is it to not let a snake bite you?"

Sam frowns at the world. Why do people keep assuming they're that stupid? "We were hunting it in the sewers and Dean got covered with the stuff when he killed it."

"And now he's growing."

Sam hears the click of a pen over the line. "When did it happen?" Owen asks. "Be specific."

"Last night, around 9 o'clock."

Scribbling. "And you said he got covered…must have been a large hydros."

"About 20 feet long. We believe it was the same hydros that attacked Tyler Durden."

"Reeeeaally!" Owen exclaims, the scribbling ceasing as he talks. "Most interesting. Where did you find it? I know Tyler's mum said she flushed it—big mistake on her part, since sending a hydros to the near endless supply of water in the sewers is about as smart as an American tourist asking a bunch of chavs for directions. Saw that once. She thought they were athletes, fuck me—" Sam clears his throat. "Right," Owen says, clearing his as well. "Sorry. Back to your brother. Did he ingest any of the venom?"

"I don't know."

"How big is he now?"

"About 10 feet, maybe just over."

"Has he been growing steadily or in spurts?"

"Little of both, but mostly spurts."

More scribbling, interlaced with clucks of concern. "It will take some time to prepare the remedy. Can have it to you, erm…tomorrow morning at the earliest."

Sam bites his lip to keep from complaining. That's way too long. Dean is sure to grow more by then, and who knows how much pain will go with it. "I'm sorry, Sam," Owen tells him, guessing his thoughts. "I used up my available supply curing the Durden boy. Plus Dean is going to need a little extra help…" He doesn't elaborate, just scribbles. "For now, you need to find a big, safe place and get Dean there as soon as you can. He's probably going to need it."

"Already found a safe house. Now I just have to get him there." The motel comes into view, and Sam pulls in to a spot near their room. He hears Owen tear off a sheet of paper.

"I'll ring you once it's ready. Don't try this number again, yeah? Safer that way. Be in touch." Click.

Sam pockets his phone and gets out of the car. Head pounding, nose still gushing, he pinches his nostrils again and keeps his chin down as he unlocks the door and steps inside.

"Hey, man, good news. I talked to Owen—"

Something big comes at Sam from the right, and he dives to the ground. It's Dean's leg. He's lying on the floor, the mattress moved up behind his back and shoulders, and he's acting out his latest nightmare. Sam gets to his feet and nearly falls over from headache and dizziness, but he makes his way over to Dean anyway.

_Not again, _Sam thinks, heart sick at having to watch his brother go through this every single time he falls asleep. Dean's skin is waxy, eyelids red and swollen with tears unable to escape the tight squeeze of lashes, and his face is clenched in pain. His legs kick out, and Sam ducks past his brother's big boots and moves forward.

"Dean, wake up."

Dean twitches as he whimpers tiny "no"s over and over. Sam puts his hand on Dean's right arm and shakes him. "Dean! Hey, snap out of it. Come on." The arm jerks up and Sam flinches back and slips on a stray pizza box on the floor. His forehead hits the corner of the nightstand as he falls. Blood trickles into his eye from the new gash as he stands up—then ducks again as Dean's arm swings back around.

"Dean…" Another arm swoop. "You have to wake up. PLEASE, Dean! You're not there anymore!" All at once, Dean settles, arms coming to a rest over his chest, legs dropping like deadweight. Sam breathes out and approaches him again, trying to ignore his still-throbbing head and the blood running down both his temple and upper lip. Dean's closed eyes go from scrunched to calm, and Sam puts his hand on his brother's forehead. It's red hot. Dean starts to shake, and Sam's worry spikes.

"Shit, not now…"

Dean grows in front of him, arms thickening, legs becoming tree trunks, chest spreading wider than the mattress. It happens so fast that Sam gets pressed against his own bed, then moved with it as Dean's expanding body pushes everything out of the way. As Sam's bed tips up on its side (Sam pinned between it and Dean's arm), the desk, TV stand, and chair get shoved to the right by Dean's legs. Pictures pop off the wall as Dean's head moves up toward the ceiling. He keeps growing; another second passes and his boots hit the other side of the room. Sam fears that they'll punch through, but his legs bend at the knees before any hole is made. The growth spurt ends, leaving Dean at least 15 feet tall, and Sam wriggles free from where he's dangling above the floor. His headache thanks him for that fun adventure by slamming at his brain from both sides as he gets to his feet.

_Wonder where the pill bag went…_ Sam wipes his nose (which has stopped bleeding), then dabs at his forehead gash (which has not) as he looks around for it, but there's too much clutter on the floor. Pizza boxes, pillows, beer bottles, the station guide for the TV… The head pounding picks up, almost like the pain is laughing at him, and Sam scowls as he gives up his search before it's even begun. He lifts his hand to cover his cut when something drops onto his hair. A soggy something. Sam pulls it off and has a look. A pizza slice—what's left of it, anyway. Sam looks up and sees another slice teetering on the edge of the upraised mattress, which is still propped up by Dean's arm.

"So much for lunch," Sam sighs. His stomach rumbles in both sympathy and demand. Then Dean groans, and Sam forgets about his own problems at once. "Dean?" No answer. Sam climbs over Dean's legs to the only part of the room that remains clutter-free: the narrow aisle by the door, just to the left of his brother. Though Dean is still lounging, his upper torso and head are now the same height as Sam standing.

_Don't think about the Weird right now, _Sam tells himself, forcing his shoulders and straightened back to relax. _Just help him. _Dean's eyelids are all scrunchy again, and his skin glistens with sweat. Sam reaches his hand out to Dean's forehead once more (ordering himself not to be weirded out by how small it looks above those big eyebrows), but the giant body jolts before Sam touches him. Dean mutters something indecipherable, and his head sways from side to side. Sam backs away when Dean's hands lift up and clench into fists.

"Dean?"

"…in," Dean murmurs, fists waving in the air. "Lemme…in…" His left hand jerks toward the wall, but Sam jumps up and catches it before it connects. He uses gravity and his own arms to pull the large fist down and against his chest; at this point, it's the closest thing he can do to holding his brother's hand in comfort.

"Wake up, Dean," he tries again. Dean only thrashes his free arm. "DEAN, you're not…" Spots start to spiral before Sam's eyes, and he shakes his head. Dean shakes his head as well, violently back and forth. Sam tightens his grip on his brother's hand. "Not in Hell…anymore…ungh." Sam's vision blurs and dims as the headache, blood loss and lack of food all catch up to him at once.

"Lemme in," Dean demands, his movements becoming frenetic. Sam hangs on desperately to Dean's forearm, both to steady himself against the dizziness and to keep Dean from hurting himself.

"Let me IN."

The spots become blotches, the dizziness, vertigo. "Deee…" Sam strains, eyes swimming in their sockets. A final pang from his headache and Sam's limp body slides down Dean's arm toward the floor, his bloody face bouncing off Dean's knuckles. Tipping to the left, he drops onto the ground.

"LET ME IN!" Dean shouts above him, but to Sam it's a mere whisper, as the world around him fades to black.

* * *

It's still black—well, dark, anyway—when Sam stirs. _How long was I out? _he wonders, rubbing his eyes. He doesn't feel rested at all, though at least his head has stopped pounding. Sam sits up, and his head hits something soft. He looks up and finds one of the mattresses lying over him instead of underneath him. To his right is the wall, and to his left is another mattress, this one folded in half and supporting the top mattress. Sam smiles, both amused and bemused.

_Was Dean playing fort while I was out of it? _Craning his neck, Sam looks back and up and sees an opening to his little, padded room. He slides out along his back. The moment his head appears, his name is shouted across the room.

"Sam!" Dean is sitting where Sam's bed used to be, knees up by his chin, and he reaches a big hand over to help Sam stand up—only to pull it back just as Sam reaches for it. A hint of fear passes over Dean's face. Sam's forehead furrows as Dean wraps both his hands around his knees and laces his fingers together. The big green eyes never leave Sam, however, watching him closely as he stands up and brushes himself off. "You all right?" Dean asks him.

"I'm fine, Dean." Sam looks around the room and discovers that the clutter has been turned into fortifications. Sam's bedframe rests against Dean's boots, while the mattresses and all the pillows, sheets, blankets, and even the desk have been laid out in a low wall around Dean's left side. "What's all this?"

"Protection."

"From what?"

"From me." Dean scratches behind his ear, then quickly tucks his hand back into place. He sees the "what the hell?" look Sam is giving him and frowns. "What? I don't know when I'm gonna grow again, so I thought this way, if I did and you were still out of it…" Dean trails off and looks down at his knees. "It's just better this way," Dean mutters. "Safer."

"Okay…" Sam steps toward him. Dean starts, and he peeks back at Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam takes another few steps. Dean leans to his right, pressing his arm, shoulder, and knees against the wall. Sam reaches out to touch him, and Dean flinches away. The room shakes as his weight shifts.

"Dean?" Sam reaches for him again, and Dean lifts his butt off the floor, slides his back along the ceiling, rolls onto his knees, and resettles on the opposite side of the room. Sam shakes his head at him, smirking a bit. "Are you afraid I have cooties or something?"

"Don't touch me," Dean tells him, sliding his legs back up to his knees. "Don't come anywhere near me, all right? Just…stay there."

"Why?"

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but doesn't. His eyes go to the mattress fort. Sam looks at it as well, and then turns back to his brother. "You think you hurt me," Sam states, shifting his stance as he peers up at Dean.

"I didn't mean to," Dean swears, still not looking at Sam.

"You didn't at all."

Dean looks up. "What?"

"You didn't hurt me," Sam says.

"What about the blood on my hand?" Dean holds the back of his left hand out in front of Sam, showing him the smear of red. "If I didn't touch you, then how—"

"I hit my head on the nightstand earlier," Sam answers. He points to the gash on his forehead. "See? I must've bled on your hand while I was leaning on you, right before I passed out."

"You passed out?" Dean repeats, leaning forward and looking concerned. "Why? What happened?"

"Major headache from an unexpected psychic attack." Sam sees Dean's eyebrows lift up in confusion, and Sam waves it off.

"No-ho no, don't handwave this," Dean barks, moving his knees to the side so he can lean closer to Sam. "Psychic attack—the hell? What was it? Demon? Witch? Evil scientist ray gun? What?" Dean realizes he's now leaning OVER Sam, and Sam is leaning back, looking very uncomfortable. Dean returns his back to the wall. "Sorry."

"It was Owen Phipps," Sam answers him, pushing aside the issue of the awkward invasion of his personal space by his giant brother. "Yes, I got in touch with him, yes, he's psychic, and yes, he's a good guy and he's going to help us. I'll tell you the whole story later. Bring your popcorn."

"I'd rather have nachos."

Sam ignores him, looking instead at the blinds covering the window. "Right now we have to get you out of here."

Dean chuckles. "Yeah, all right, Sammy, I'll just slip out the door. It's just after lunch on a sunny freakin' Saturday, and call me crazy, but I think people are going to notice a giant me walking around the neighborhood."

"That's why we have to smuggle you out," Sam answers, sounding distracted. "And I think I saw just the thing on the way here…" Sam is out of the door before he finishes saying "Back in a few." Dean listens to his brother's footfalls clomp away, and he wonders what he has in mind.

_Won't matter one damn bit if you can't get through that door, _Dean thinks, eyeing the closed entryway. He turns his head and glances back at the bathroom door. It looks about as big as the front door. Sucking in a breath, he leans onto his side, keeping his legs and feet in the bedroom, as his upper half shimmies up to the bathroom. Dean reaches in with one hand, grabs onto the tub, and pulls. His head slides through easily, as do his shoulders, but the muscles in his arms take up too much space, and he stops pulling as he feels them starting to stick to the doorframe. _Shit. Not good. _He squirms back out and sits on his knees.

_All right…try feet first. _Dean shifts around as best he can (knocking the desk over with his knees in the process), lies back on his side, and moves in. He only gets up to his knees thanks to the small room. _Least it's not me this time, _he thinks, the feeble attempt at cheering himself up failing. With a sigh, he pulls back out and rubs his back; though every part of him hurts, his back is the worst. Dean eyes the door with trepidation. _Can't get stuck._ _Not an option. Should just stay here… _He looks at the ceiling. …_and give the folks upstairs a nice surprise when my head bursts through their floor. Yeah, great. _Dean frowns and rubs at his aching back as his eyes drift yet again to the door. _I'm gonna get stuck, I know it. _He gulps at the thought. _Stupid huge body._ _Stupid tiny door. _A shiver goes down his back, and Dean glares at the room.

"You do realize you're freaking out about a damn door," he hisses at himself. "It's just a door! Are you seriously afraid of a door?!"

_No, _some part of his brain responds. _It's getting trapped in the door. Trapped anywhere, ever again… _Stabbing pain hits each of his shoulders. _Unable to move, to fight back…_ Eyes grow wide as he stares at the rusty nails poking through his blue shirt, fresh blood covering caked layers of broken flesh. …_to escape the agony…_

The squeal of brakes makes him jolt, and he hears a big engine shut off. Dean blinks and the pain is gone. His shoulders are just shoulders again. Tender fingers touch the fabric, feeling for holes, but find none. _The hell…?_

Sam bursts through the door and points over his shoulder with his thumb. "Okay, let's go," he orders, sounding a little out of breath. Dean gives him a tight smile and tries to look happy instead of freaked.

"Great," he lies, "let me just get our stuff—"

"No time. I'll come back for it."

"Don't you even want your laptop?" Dean stretches his arm past Sam toward the other side of the room.

"Dean…"

"No I got it." Dean reaches back in the corner and hooks the sash with his thumb, holding it out to Sam. "Put it way over here so it wasn't in the Smoosh Zone."

Sam takes it and frowns at him. "Why are you stalling?"

Dean frowns back. "I'm not stalling. Why would I be stalling?"

The frowning contest continues for a few seconds before Sam says, "Okay, fine. Then let's go."

"What about my car?"

"What about it?" Sam asks. He suffers a deep glare, and he rolls his eyes. "What about HER, then," Sam corrects himself. Dean gives him a 'that's better' nod.

"We can't just leave her here by herself."

"She's by herself all the time! Why is now any different?"

"She could get scratched or stolen or—"

"She'll be FINE, Dean," Sam placates, long-suffering patience swiftly dwindling. "She won't even know we're gone. Now come on, we have to move before you grow again."

"And go where?" Dean challenges. "Huh? Where are you taking me, some giant holding cell, or, or…some stupid…sports arena, and people will pay money to see me and throw their drinks at me, and I'll have to work for scraps every day, and scraps aren't enough, I need to eat, and I don't want people seeing me OR throwing shit at me, cos that's not fair, I'm a GOOD guy, right?" Dean looks at his brother's face full of "WTF?" and ducks his head down, just as confused by his outburst as Sam. "I'll shut up now…"

"What's going on, Dean?"

Dean shrugs, still not looking at him, and bangs his elbow against the wall, punching a hole clear through to the bathroom. Dean rubs his elbow and looks at his boots instead of his brother. "This sucks," he mutters.

"That's why we have to get you more space," Sam says, keeping his voice calm before Dean decides to start punching more holes. "Now let's go. I've got a truck waiting right outside the door. You just have to walk in and get comfy."

"What kind of truck?" Dean murmurs, picturing a prison bus.

"I think you'll like it," Sam smiles knowingly. "It's a bakery truck." Dean's eyebrows lift up in interest, though his eyes remain on his boots. Sam backs toward the door. "In fact," he opens the door with a flourish, "I checked in back, and it just so happens that the truck was on a pie run."

No sooner does the delicious smell of apple and cinnamon waft into the room than Sam is knocked over by a WHOOSH of wind and the color blue. Sam picks himself up off the floor and looks back at where Dean had been. He's gone. Then a loaf of bread flies by his face. Sam looks out the door and ducks just as several bags of rolls come at him. Dean is in the truck and throwing out anything he presumably doesn't want to eat. He barely fits inside, back inches from the roof even as he's squatting down, but he doesn't seem to care. He backhands the empty trays out of the truck, and his treasure is revealed in all its glory. Pie. An entire wall filled to the ceiling with containers of pie.

"It's beautiful," Dean whispers, blissful smile lighting up both the truck and his brother's face. Sam smiles back.

"I'll give you all some privacy." Sam flips the doors shut and moves the latch from 'open' to 'closed.' Then he stashes the tossed out baked goods and the trays in the room, glancing around the area for onlookers as he locks up. Sam jogs around to the front of the truck and climbs inside. The wind blows across his legs and both seats, the lack of doors on this typical delivery truck making Sam wish he'd swapped his crappy marshal jacket for his tried and true hoodie. _Later, _he tells himself, buckling up. _Just get Dean out of here before you have to steal a crane to move him._

The truck rolls onto the street, and Sam hears a very happy moan from behind him. He knocks on the door that separates the cab from the rest of the truck. "How's the pie?"

"Fucking…awesome," Dean cheers. The door slides open, and the smell of baked goodness fills the air. Two big fingers emerge through the opening, balancing a container with half a pie. "Dude, you have to try this. Blueberry pear pie. It's orgasmic."

Sam laughs but shakes his head. "Maybe later."

"Yeah, unless later is in five seconds, you can basically kiss this pie goodbye." The big fingers set the pie on the seat next to Sam, then lift up and gently pat Sam on the head. "You'll thank me, Sammy."

Sam's arm pushes the fingers off, though Dean catches the smile on his brother's face before Sam looks to his left. It makes Dean smile in turn. He pulls his fingers back through the small opening, takes out a tiny plastic utensil set from the box in the corner, and places that on the seat next to the pie. Sam snickers.

"All right, all right, I get it." Sam puts the pie in his lap, grabs the plastic fork, and digs in. "I'm eating. Happy?"

Dean grins from the dark of the back of the truck but doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. Sam's smiling and eating, which means he isn't frowning and worrying about Dean. Mission accomplished.

_And now for my reward._ Dean looks back at his Wall O' Pie and pulls one out at random. _Peach cobbler._ _Mmm…not right now. _He sets it down next to his knee, ignoring the complaints from his legs that sitting 'Indian style' in this tiny space isn't all that comfy, and takes another pie. _Banana cream._ _Hell. Yeah. _That goes on top of the cobbler. _So many choices! _Dean squeals inside his mind. _It's Christmas in November. What else we got? _He takes a whole stack this time. _Apple…dutch apple…mock apple…cranapple…all good. _One hand sets them on the floor, the other removes even more containers. _Ooh, cheesecake! Hey wait, that's not a pie. Is it? _Dean's about to ask Sam for his opinion when the truck goes over a bump. The handle on the back jiggles in its lock and opens, and one of the doors gets caught in the wind and flies wide. Dean swiftly leans over to close the door when the cheesecake slides off his lap, rolls along the floor, and drops out of the truck.

"No!" Dean throws his weight forward to grab for the door, and the entire truck falls back, front popping up off its wheels and into the air. Sam is slammed into his seat as the street is exchanged for the sky. Crashes and bangs and horns and alarms scream at them from all around.

"Dean?! What—" Another crashing sound comes at him, and Sam's hands grip the steering wheel tight. The truck is moving, rear-wheel drive still engaged, and Sam hits the brakes and tries in vain to somehow steer. The front wheels go left and right, useless as they hang in the air. Sam forces his back up and away from the seat, and he looks back—and down—at the rest of the truck. Dean has wedged himself between the roof and the remaining pies, and his foot is propped over the floor in front of the flapping door. A plethora of pies cover his other boot up to his ankle, each one ready to fall at the slightest movement. Dean looks up at him and gives a look of "help me!" Sam just scowls back.

"Move up here before we flip over!" Sam yells.

"No, we'll lose more pie!" Dean cries.

"Someone's gonna SEE you, Dean!"

"I don't care!"

"What's more important: you or the pie?"

Dean throws him a look. "Honestly?" Sam gives a deep frown of disapproval, and Dean stares down at his heavenly bounty. God it all looks so good…to think that it'll end up on the pavement instead of his stomach… _It's sick and wrong, _Dean thinks. The truck rocks back and forth, reminding both men that it's still popping a wheelie and that no delivery truck should EVER pop a wheelie. Sam whips his body back around and clings to the wheel, while Dean puts his hands further out on the walls, fighting to keep the truck balanced.

"Dean…"

"I know."

"People are going to get hurt if this truck flips."

"I KNOW!" Dean takes a final look down at his pie pile and utters a sad moan. He shuts his eyes, unable to watch, then bends and leans forward, taking a step toward Sam. The truck rights itself, coming down hard and bouncing on its surprisingly strong suspension. Sam looks back at Dean as soon as the truck has settled and finds most of the pies have fallen out the back. Dean slumps down in front of the narrow doorway between cab and truck and hangs his head.

"Such a pointless waste," Dean sighs. "All that pie…gone. That's something no one should _ever_ have to see."

"You'll live," Sam snaps back, much more worried about the approaching sirens than his brother's ruined snack. Sam floors the pedal and takes off, glancing in the rearview mirror at the accident they've left in their wake and relieved to see it doesn't look like anyone was hurt. He's around the corner and several blocks down before the police arrive on the scene.

It's a fender bender fiesta, at least twenty cars involved. The officers prepare themselves for shouts and finger pointing, but when they emerge from their patrol cars, all they hear is munching. They look around, flummoxed, as everyone shares and enjoys pie. One young officer taps a woman on her shoulder and asks what happened. She swallows her bite and points up ahead.

"Truck up there nearly flipped over. Two cars hit each other, and then I dunno…" She takes another bite. "All this packaged pie appeared. Want some?"

The young officer leaves her and heads toward the front of the fracas. The street is blocked off by the two smashed vehicles that started it all, their windshields covered in Destruction by Dessert. One vehicle is a red SUV. As the frenzied mother climbs out and tries to calm down her wailing daughter, her teenage son tastes the splattered remains of pastry on the windshield. "What are you doing?!" the mother shouts, making the teen laugh and the young girl cry. The other vehicle looks like a plumber's van, and while the officer walks past it to talk to the mother, the van's driver calmly pulls his phone from his coverall pocket and makes a call.

"Target has escaped," he reports, eyeing the cops as they stream toward him. "Repeat: target has escaped. Request new surveillance equipment and clean-up crew respond immediately to my location. Local law enforcement is on the scene."

"Is target out of range?" asks the voice on the other hand.

"Affirmative. Will remain in area for recon. Out." He hangs up just as a cop knocks on the window. The presumed plumber gets out of the van and waves that he's all right. "Just won't be able to get to my 1 o'clock on time," he says in good nature. The cop gets his notebook out to get the man's story, but the man just looks at the place where the bakery truck had just been.

He knows a giant can't evade detection for long.


	6. Castles and Concern

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Thanks to the amazing Katiki for beta-ing yet again! This chapter has a little more angst than crack, just to warn you, but I added a touch of schmoop to even things out. Hope you enjoy :) Also: a few of you have PMd me asking for some visual aids, LOL. I was going to Photoshop something together to show just how big Dean is at chapter's end, but I'm exhausted right now, I'm sorry. It's been a very long day. So if anyone else out there feels like making some Photoshop fun for this fic (wow, that was alliterate), go nuts :) Just please send me a link so I can see the squee too!

* * *

**Chapter Six: Castles and Concern**

Things don't get any better pie-wise after that. Not two minutes after the accident, Sam makes a breakneck right turn, flipping the two remaining pies against the wall and crushing them on impact. Dean wants to cry. He doesn't, of course, but he wants to. He's been hugging those precious pies, keeping them safe, with full plans to consume them as soon as they arrive at wherever they're going. So much for that: just as Dean reaches a hand forward to pick what's left of the buttery crust and apple-cinnamon goodness off the walls, the pie truck's doors whip open.

"Let's go," Sam orders. "Have to swap getaway vehicles before they find us."

"I know," Dean replies, very soft and sad. He keeps his eyes off the wasted pie and ducks out of the truck. Sam throws the Nostrils of Concern at him, and Dean frowns. "What? It's just pie, Sam." Dean looks at the sky and the pie-shaped cloud overhead. "Sweet…delicious pie…"

Sirens blare into earshot, and Dean pushes Sam down as police cars scream past the building they are parked behind. Both of them hold their breath for several long moments, straining to hear screeching tires, but the police don't come back.

"Um…you can let me up now, Dean."

Dean peers down and sees his big hand covering Sam's back, forcing his little brother into a very low squat. "Heh, sorry." Dean stands up and releases Sam at the same time. Both men straighten, look at each other, and look away the moment they both notice that the top of Sam's head is even with Dean's package, meaning his eyelevel is…yeeeah. "Nah, this ain't awkward at all!" Dean mutters, ignoring Sam when asked what he just said.

"So now what?" Dean asks instead. Sam nods to something behind Dean. Several U-Haul trucks are lined up, each of them only about as long as the Impala. Dean walks up to them and scowls—their trailers aren't even half as big as his roomy room in the pie truck. "Oh hell no. That's way too small."

"I know—look, I'm sorry, all right? But it's either this or a shopping cart from the market we just passed."

"Is it a regular shopping cart or one of those cool ones that looks like a fire truck?" Dean asks, looking very serious. "MAN kids have it better today…"

"It's only a few more miles," Sam promises, pulling Dean's attention back to the open and waiting U-Haul. "I'll floor it, man, I swear."

Dean grumbles but moves forward and squeezes in anyway. Sam is wearing the Puppy Dog Eyes when he rolls the metal door shut. Dean is glaring. Neither of them really seems to notice the other's expression.

Eleven minutes later, and Dean misses the pie truck as much as the pie itself. They're still not there, wherever 'there' is, and Dean couldn't be more uncomfortable. He's curled up on his back, feet against the back wall of the truck, shoulders and head against the rolling door. His knees are in his chin. One arm is scrunched in to his side, the other is under his legs. It's dark. It's tight. It smells like wet cardboard and pickles. _What the hell were they hauling? _he wonders, switching to breathing through his mouth.

The truck jostles over what Dean is sure are a few tiny bumps—the suspension on this piece of shit sucks—and his pained body gets to feel everything the truck does, only magnified since he isn't exactly normal cargo. His back, as always, hurts the most, the pain from his last growth spurt still lingering in each muscle and stressed vertebrae. His shoulders and arms ache like he just helped someone move, carrying the sofa and the bed and pretty much everything himself. And his head hurts so much that he can actually _see _it, every strike to his skull appearing as green spots before his eyes in the dark, swelling and bursting, swelling and bursting.

In short, it sucks. And the panic attack he's trying to ignore isn't helping matters.

Trapped inside in the dark, unable to move, not knowing what is going to happen to him…yeah, he's never been in this situation before… _Great, first a stupid motel door, now a stupid U-Haul truck. _Dean shakes his head at himself (or would, if he could move his head at this point). _Get a grip, Dean. _The truck swerves around something, and Dean takes in a sharp breath of damp, stinky air.

_Stop it. You're not doing this. You're FINE._ Dean feels the truck pick up speed. _Okay. Just make a mental map of where the truck is going so you can find your way back to the motel if you need to. _He doesn't really have to tell himself to do that: thanks to training and all these years on the road, it comes naturally. He'd already been keeping track of the route back in the pie truck, only then it was easier because he had a window. Now he's literally stuck in the dark in this tiny space that smells like garbage and he's in pain and he can't get out and if Sam doesn't hurry the fuck up he's going to die in here and—

_STOP IT. _

His heart is speeding and his breaths come short and fast. _Stop it, _he thinks again, sucking in longer breaths through his mouth. _Listen to the road. _The truck goes left, and Dean draws it in the map in his mind. _Seventeen Mississippis_ _since the last turn._ _One Mississippi_…_two Mississippi_…_three Mississippi_…

The walls around him start to glow red. Dean shuts his eyes. _Four—it's not real. Five Mississippi_…_six Mississippi_…

A blast of heat rolls across his face. _Not real. Seven Mississippi_…_eight Mississippi_…

The truck tilts down as the road descends a small incline. _Hill at nine Mississippi_…_ten Mississippi…eleven Mississippi_…_twelve Miss—_

The squeal of brakes morphs into an ungodly scream, jolting Dean from his count. His eyes fly open in surprise. The Oven lies in wait in front of him, monstrous stone jaws eager to swallow him whole. Dean squirms to get away but he's trapped, wedged into a tiny, square cage that has him squatting, egg-shaped and vulnerable. He's been placed on a conveyor belt that's moving almost ridiculously slowly. He'd easily be able to hop off and escape—IF he could move. He can't. The demons on either side of him laugh, loving their Easy-Bake Oven almost as much as throwing people into it.

"I'm not here," Dean whispers, terrified but fighting not to be. "This isn't happening. I'm in a truck, not the cage."

One of the faceless demons to his right laughs, his hot breath charring through Dean's lungs and making him cough. "Never gets old, does it?" the demon asks whatever creature is next to him. "'This isn't happening, I'm not here!' So cute how they try and ignore it." A hand with black talons for nails rattles his cage.

_That was a pothole. You're in a stupid truck, remember? _More heat blasts him from the furnace. Dean presses his forehead to his knees. _Not there anymore. Cas got you out. You're safe, you're out—_

"Wrong, Deano," the demon says, now from somewhere behind him. "This is reality. The angel? Being back with your precious Sammy? That's just something you told yourself to feel better."

The Oven is right in front of Dean now, flames flicking at the masonry like a thousand burning tongues. Dean struggles to move, but he can't—the cage is too strong, and he's far too weak. "Whatsamatter Dean?" asks a different voice—young and female. Dean looks up and sees a little girl in a bloodied dress, white eyes glowing above her pouty smile. She isn't really a girl, but she appears as one all the same, knowing how much it freaks Dean out. "This is one of your favorite games," she reminds him. "Don't you like it anymore?"

Dean is hyperventilating now, his ribs twinging with each too-tight breath, but he manages to swallow his panic for one second and utter two words to the girl: "Fuck…you…"

"I think you're the one that's fucked, Dean," says a third voice: male, nasal, and cold. The conveyor belt speeds forward. The girl claps and cheers. Dean kicks and pounds at his cage.

_Get out get free get away…_

The Oven opens its jaws wide. Dean squirms and thrashes and slams, desperate to break free.

_GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT_

Something shifts behind him, and his head falls back into sunshine. The Oven and the laughter fade away, leaving his small, upside-down brother in their wake. Sam is petrified, his mouth open to speak but no sound coming out. Dean shuts his eyes tight.

_Shit._

Rolling as little to the right as he's able, Dean frees his left hand, sets it down on the pavement, and crawls out. He stretches his arms up to work out the latest kinks and cramps, but the now constant pain in every muscle and bone soon has him crumbling, and he has to steady himself with a hand on the truck to keep from falling. He looks down at his little carrier and grimaces. Bulges big and small protrude from each of its sides, while a large dome has been pushed out the top. Dean feels a new stinging in his knuckles, and he isn't surprised when he sees reddened skin and a few drops of blood. His elbows burn with the same sting. So do his knees.

_SHIT._

The metal door rolls shut on its own, broken and as misshapen as the rest of the cargo hold. Dean puts his big hand over it, like covering it up for a second will make it go away. Sam is still staring at him—Dean can feel his eyes boring into him. He doesn't blame him. He doesn't look at him, either. Instead he just steps away from the truck and takes in the surroundings. They're parked in front of a loading dock. A warehouse extends beyond it, three stories high and pretty big—Dean stands on his tiptoes to try and see just how big, but he can't. He's tall, but not that tall. _Yet, _he thinks ruefully.

"Dean…" comes a small voice behind him.

Dean just walks toward the loading dock. "We going in this way or…" He gets no answer, so he turns back and finally looks down at Sam, pretending not to see the worry on his face. "What?"

Sam stares back for a moment before he replies, "You know what." Pissed and showing it, Sam walks past Dean's very long legs and goes up the steps to the regular door next to the big loading dock ones. He fishes out a pair of keys and lets himself inside. Moments later, the loading dock door slowly rolls open. Dean steps up onto the dock, ducks, and clambers inside. Sam presses the button to shut the door behind him as Dean looks around. The place is huge, aisles of moveable shelves and pallets stretching far away from him and nearly up to the ceiling, which Dean is relieved to see is far over his head. He relaxes at once. Then his eyes go to the closest shelf and he mutters a "huh" when he sees what is stored there: mattresses. They're everywhere.

"Welcome to Mattress Metropolis," Sam says, walking up next to Dean, "the Midwest's largest mattress warehouse and retailer. Least, that's what the sign on the front door said."

"How'd you find this place?" Dean asks, still looking around.

"When I was out trying to find Owen Phipps, I was also looking for possible hideouts." He looks up at Dean's face. "BIG, possible hideouts. You know, just in case you grew again. And you did, so here we are."

"Nice!" Dean grins. "So what lie did Federal Wildlife Marshal Bruce give the management to get everybody out of here?"

Sam grins back. "Marshal Bruce didn't have anything to do with it. You can thank Health Inspector Richards for that. Just told them one of their shipments was infested with bed bugs and they gave me the keys."

Dean throws him a look. "Bedbugs," he repeats flatly. Sam nods. "They bought that?"

"Well yeah…bedbugs are real. They've become a threat all over the world in recent months." Dean gives him an 'uh-huh' look with his eyebrows, and Sam frowns up at him. "It's been all over the news, Dean! How'd you miss it?"

"Sorry, Sammy, must've been out having a life." Dean moves over to the shelves on the wall and pulls out a mattress. "How much time did your little bedbug bullshit buy us?"

"Four days. Said I'd call with the all-clear, and they took off."

Dean sets the mattress down on the floor and sits on it, stretching his very long and still cramped legs out. "So now what? Just hang out here until this…" he gestures to himself, "whatever it is wears off?"

"Owen said he'll be here in the morning with the antidote."

"You mean the ox dung," Dean says, smile dropping at once. "Awesome."

"It's either that or you getting worse," Sam says. Dean notes that Sam doesn't look at him as he says it.

"What if I get worse anyway?" That gets Sam's attention—he looks up into Dean's frown. "The guy attacked you in your mind, Sam. Can we really trust him?"

"He knows us, Dean. Well—he knows OF us. He helps hunters in England, and he knows Tamara. And he already cured Tyler. He knows what he's doing, he said he wants to help you…I don't know, man, I think we don't really have a choice here." Sam walks in front of Dean and shrugs. "He's our only hope."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Don't go all Princess Leia on me." Sam rolls his eyes too, finishing with a pissy look. The corner of Dean's mouth curls up as he adds, "Though your hair is long enough to be rolled into those cinnamon buns…" Dean reaches for him, and Sam bats his big hand out of the way.

"If I'm Princess Leia, you're Jabba the Hut."

"So you're going to squeeze into a slave outfit now? Cos I gotta say, Sammy, I really, REALLY don't need to see your hairy legs in that skimpy costume—"

Sam flips him off and turns toward the door, and Dean laughs. "Just behave yourself while I go out for supplies," Sam calls. "Think you can handle that?"

"Depends. What kind of supplies? Food-related supplies?"

Sam stops at the door and looks back. "Yeah, among other things. But first I have to steal something else to drive, since there's now a big hole where the passenger seat used to be." He glares at Dean, not in a mean way, but to show he hasn't forgotten about what happened a few minutes ago. Guilt and fear spread over Dean's face anyway.

"Sam, I…" Dean clears his throat and looks away. "Just…look—"

"It's fine," Sam snaps. "I'M fine. Just try and rest." His face softens. "You look like you could use some."

Sam steps out of the building and locks the door behind him, then makes his way over to the U-Haul and gets inside. He looks at the destroyed seat next to him, stuffing and springs smooshed against the dashboard, and he thumps his forehead against the wheel.

_Stupid, Sam. Why the hell did you tell him what he did? Now he's going to realize how close he came to hurting you. _Sam looks back at the warehouse, wanting to run back inside and reassure him, tell him that as scary as it was to see the giant heel of Dean's boot plunge through the wall and the seat, it was ten times scarier to hear Dean screaming in the trailer. To rush out of the cab and see the sides of the truck bulge outward. To open the door and watch Dean's ghostly-white face fall out, mouth open and gasping for breath, eyes terrified and rolling around. Sam pushes the thought out of his mind and hotwires the truck again. The engine starts, but Sam doesn't shift into gear; his eyes go to the warehouse again instead. What if Dean has another attack while he's gone?

_He probably will, _Sam's bitterness speaks up. _And he'll try to hide that one from you as well._

Sam glares at the thought, hating how true it rings. _All the more reason for me to hurry up and get back here and work on getting him to TALK to me. _The truck rolls forward, and just as he gets back on the road, his cell phone rings. Bobby's name is on the readout screen, and Sam greets him as he puts the phone to his ear.

"How's our boy doing?" Bobby asks.

"He's been better," Sam murmurs, thinking again about the abject terror in Dean's eyes when Sam opened up the cargo door. "Something's wrong with him, Bobby. It's not just the fact that he's 15 feet tall now…" He pauses as Bobby whistles. "It's something else." Sam swallows hard when one of Dean's screams plays back in his memory. "Something a lot worse."

"Well don't keep me in suspense, son—fill in the details."

So Sam starts talking. He tells Bobby about the nightmares and night terrors, and how they only seem to be getting worse since Dean's admission he remembers Hell. He describes the nightly keening and shaking, the jolt awake, the unscrewing of the flask, the gulp of alcohol, the lean-over-and-check-on-Sam, and the collapse back into bed. And he tells him about the daytime daze, how Dean keeps falling into his mind, gazing in horror at nothing, until he snaps out of it and acts like nothing happened.

"He can't keep going like this," Sam says at length. "It's eating him alive. I keep trying to get him to talk to me about it—"

"But he won't," Bobby finishes. "Getting that kid to open up s'about as tough as a bus station steak." He sighs, every bit as frustrated and worried as Sam. "Meantime, there's still a giant problem to figure out…"

"Did you find out anything new?"

"Not really. How's he coping with the growing pains?"

Sam frowns. "Er…what growing pains?"

Bobby grumbles something about thumping Dean's skull in before he replies to Sam's question. "It's common for any hydros victim to be in a lot of pain as they grow, no matter how much venom they get. Think back to your teenage years for a moment, Sam. Ever get any weird back aches or leg cramps while you were shooting up like a tree?"

"I know what growing pains are, Bobby. And yeah, 'course I got those."

"Well Dean's getting 'em now, only worse cos he's growing a helluva lot more than normal. Lot faster, too. Try shooting up three feet at once. That'll do stuff to a person, none of it pleasant."

Sam thinks about this, remembering Dean complaining about his headache and his back. He figured it was just that—a headache and a sore back. _God, how stupid am I…_ he curses himself, slamming his free hand on the steering wheel in disgust. _He even had seizures, remember? Dammit, Sam—_

"Don't beat yourself up about this," Bobby tells him. "I know you are. Just let it go. Now you know that it's a problem, you can deal with it, right?"

_Should've noticed…he's been in pain the whole time. Shit, and then I made him ride all squashed up in that truck!_

"Sam…"

Sam blinks out of the tirade in his mind and shakes his head. "Yeah…yeah. Sorry. Just…"

"Feeling helpless and hating it. Yeah. I get that. Know what's even worse? Staring at the damn phone and waiting for it to ring like some lovelorn teenager. I got better things to do than sit around hoping you'll call and fill me in on the latest…"

"Sorry," Sam says, feeling even worse now.

"It's all right," Bobby assures him. "You just get back to that brother of yours and watch out for him. The bigger they are, the stronger they think they'll be. And knowing how Dean is even when he's normal…"

"If you can call that normal," Sam quips fondly. "Yeah, I know. Oh, one more thing: I got in touch with a guy named Owen Phipps. Says he can help Dean and that he's a friend of Tamara's. Ever heard of him?"

"Doesn't ring a bell. But any friend of Tamara's is a friend of mine."

"You mind if I give him your number? Maybe you two can work together on this."

"Worth a shot," Bobby answers. "Good luck, Sam. Be careful. And keep me posted, dammit." He hangs up in Sam's ear, and Sam pockets his phone. He checks his watch. It feels like he's been talking a lot longer than five minutes.

_He's all right, _Sam tells himself, stopping his thoughts from turning to Dean relapsing into another attack while Sam's been on the phone. _Just get what you need and get back there. _He passes a mover's truck and smiles. _Starting with that._

* * *

Another 70 minutes after that, and Sam is back at the warehouse, honking for Dean to open the garage door around the corner from the loading dock. The door opens, and Sam drives the truck in. His eyes widen and he breaks into a grin as he sees what Dean has done with the place. All of the shelves around the garage door/loading dock area have been moved and stacked into framework for a huge sand castle. Only instead of sand, the walls are made of mattresses, stacked and stuffed atop each other, with a king mattress crowning the structure. The thing is as tall as Dean, and he presents the castle to Sam as he gets out of the truck.

"Someone was bored," Sam says, still grinning as he looks the soft sculpture over.

"You like your Comfy Castle and you know it," Dean replies, also grinning. "See? You can climb up here," he walks his fingers up the cushiony stairs on the side, "and sleep up here. Go on, try it! I swear it won't fall—I tested it with the desk from over there."

Sam looks at the surprisingly large desk as he goes to the stairs, picturing 15-foot Dean lifting it like it's nothing and setting it on top. It's almost as fascinating as picturing Dean constructing this castle. Sam will never, ever cease to be amazed by what his brother can make out of anything, anywhere. He races up to the top and falls onto the bed. Comfort greets him and wraps itself around him. Sam puts his hands behind his head and smiles in bliss. Dean's really big green eyes appear next to him, level with where Sam lies.

"So? Good?"

"SO good," Sam sighs happily. He feels like he's lying on a cloud—so different from all those nights on paper-thin mattresses with their sharp springs digging into his back. "How many mattresses you got under here?"

"A lot. I lost count. But a lot is enough, right?"

"Absolutely." Sam grins even more when he catches Dean's beaming face, and Sam sits up. "But what about you? Where's your Comfy Castle?"

"Eh, I figured there wasn't much of a point making one for me. Don't wanna grow and smash it, cos then I'd just have to rebuild. And that would suck. So I just made that for me." He points to a grouping of mattresses further back in the room, on the floor near the closest wall. They're stacked three high in a rectangle of nine mattresses by six, and Sam sees that they're each held together by something light blue.

_Are those…tied jumpsuits?_ Sam leans forward to see, and nearly tumbles off his castle.

"Whoa, careful," Dean's big hand steadies him. "Don't make me put up the crib railings."

Sam gives him a mini-bitchface. "You made crib railings?"

"You have to ask?" Dean grins as Sam rolls his eyes. Dean then goes over to his makeshift bed and sits down, cheerful and bouncy like a 15-foot kid. "So? What'd you bring me? Food? Toys? Food? Magazines? Food?"

"You'll see." Sam runs back down the stairs, amazed again at how sturdy it all is, and walks over to the truck. Dean gets up and hovers over him as Sam opens the door to the trailer. It's stuffed—STUFFED—with boxes and bags from the grocery store and from fast food joints. Dean looks even happier than when he first beheld the pie truck, and his stomach rumbles in anticipation. "You're welcome," Sam laughs. He goes around to the cab. "You start unloading. I'll get our stuff out from up front."

"Our stuff?" Dean asks, voice garbled from whatever he's already started eating. Sam grins but pretends he doesn't notice.

"Made a quick stop at the motel to pick up our bags. The Impala's fine, by the way. She says 'hi.'"

Dean's big face appears from behind the truck. "Dude, don't make fun of her. She's very sensitive. I've had to talk her out of running you over before, y'know."

Sam laughs. Dean doesn't. Slightly disturbed, Sam grabs the bags and closes the cab's door. "Anyway, the car is safe, and thanks to the Do Not Disturb sign, the sorry state of the room is still a secret. It's paid off till Monday. I'll pick up the car sometime tomorrow and bring her back here."

Dean nods and hoists an enormous stack out of the truck, his big arms and wide chest about the size and strength of a forklift. He carries it past Sam's castle and keeps walking. Sam runs to catch up with him, wondering where he's going, and Dean leads him to a room further inside the warehouse. He sets the stack down outside a door and motions for Sam to go inside.

"It's the break room," Dean tells him as Sam switches on the light. "There's a fridge and a microwave and a coffee maker, pantry back there, big TV up—" Dean's stomach rumbles again, sounding like a volcano about to erupt. Dean turns to run back to the truck. "I'll give you the full tour later, all right?" he calls back to Sam. "Right now we should both eat!"

Sam's stomach gives a little growl as well, and he's relieved that Dean isn't around to hear it and tease him about it. As Dean rummages through the next part of the truck, Sam goes to the food pile Dean carried over and takes out a bag of burgers from McDonald's. Dean thuds back over to him with several of the same bags draped over his fingers. "Heh, great minds," he smiles. Sam smiles back. They sit down and eat themselves full. Dean is thrilled to see how much food is left even after his bigger-than-ever appetite has been appeased.

"How much did all this cost?" Dean asks, slumped against the wall with his hands relaxed over his belly.

"You don't wanna know," Sam says, sitting the same way. Dean chuckles, and Sam looks up at him, smiling but curious.

"It's nothing…just weird to have all this money, y'know? Really nice, don't get me wrong, but really fuckin' weird."

Sam nods, feeling the same way. "Thank God for overpaid jerks who like to hand out bribes." He takes out what remains of the cash stash—which is still plenty—and holds it high so Dean can see it and smile.

"Awesome." Dean gets up and breathes deep, shutting his eyes. "So now what, little brother? No hunt to plan out, no demons after us for a change…even the angels are being quiet for once. Could get used to this…"

"Where did you put my laptop?" Sam asks. Dean groans at the question, and Sam smirks. "Come on—so we don't have a hunt right now. There's still the big you-shaped puzzle to figure out."

"The hell kind of puzzle is in the shape of a 'U'?" Dean questions.

"Not 'U', 'you.'"

"Like a female sheep?"

"Never mind."

"Cos that's a 'ewe', right? Or am I pullin' that outta my ass…"

Sam gives a low groan, and Dean responds with a sleepy smile as he cracks an eye open and looks down at Sam. "The research can wait, Sammy. You should try enjoying your downtime. It's not every day we actually get to relax."

"So what, do nothing?" Sam asks, smiling again. "Just lie down and sleep the afternoon away?"

Dean's eyes snap open, and he jumps to his feet—the resulting vibration makes Sam's body jump, too. "I should finish redecorating."

"Redecorating?" Sam repeats, following Dean as he strides away. Dean gestures to the aisles and mattresses still around them.

"I have to get all of this out of the way before I grow again. Plus we still have to unload the rest of the truck. Might as well get started…"

And just like that, the good mood is killed. Sam watches Dean walk back to the truck, hand going to his head for a moment, then shaking out and falling back to his side, as Dean sneaks a peek over his shoulder to see if Sam noticed. _Of course I noticed, _Sam thinks. _You're hurting and you're afraid to go to sleep and you won't talk about it. Not even if I ask you directly. _Sam wanders over to the truck, watching Dean unload every box and bag at a fever pitch. By the time he's back at Dean's side, the truck is almost empty.

"Hey, Dean…"

Dean pauses inside the truck and looks back at him. "Yeah?"

Sam wants to yell at him to knock it off, to not work himself into even more pain, to fucking TALK to him…but he doesn't. Instead he just points a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll get a forklift, help you move some of this."

"You don't have to—"

"I know. I want to. Like you said, research can wait."

Dean nods, a little suspicious, but doesn't say anything. "I saw the keys were still in the forklift over there…"

And so they spend the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening pushing everything out of the way. It's an enormous job with so much stuff in such a large building, but it's a great time killer. Every shelf and mattress and any moveable machinery is pressed and piled against the wall, giving Dean as much growing room as possible. Neither of them talks about their fears of Dean being as big as the warehouse, of course. Dean just watches Sam, trying to catch him worrying, listening for the fancy gears in his head to lock onto something and not let go. Sam in turn just watches Dean, waiting for him to yell out in pain or stare at nothing with a look of dread. Neither man cracks. Neither man stops watching, either.

After that, Sam pulls the TV out of the break room, and Dean carries it over to their sleeping area. They eat dinner and have a few beers—Dean downing the keg Sam brought for him in a few chugs, much to both brothers' irritation. They don't watch TV for long: they're both exhausted from the afternoon's activities on top of a very long, very stressful day. So by nine, Sam crawls up to his bed on top of the Comfy Castle, and Dean collapses onto his huge, makeshift mattress. Sam looks down at his big brother as Dean puts an arm over his eyes.

"It'll be better tomorrow, Dean," Sam tells him. Dean smirks but doesn't remove his arm.

"You're the optimist now? Someone check the temperature in Hell." He peeks an eye out at Sam. "Why'd you say that, anyway?"

Sam shrugs. "Just felt like the right thing to say."

Dean seems to accept that. He reaches over to a big black button on the wall. "Night, Sammy." He presses it and the lights shut off, one row at a time.

"Night Dean." Sam puts his arms behind his head and wonders if tomorrow really will be any better.

_Let's just get through the night first, _he tells himself, eyelids drooping with the need for sleep.

* * *

Dean wakes up first—not that he ever really fell asleep. His back hurts too much, his head won't stop pounding, and don't even get him started on his knees. Still, he was physically tired enough that he figured he'd fall asleep, not just into a groggy half-sleep that had him tossing and turning for hours. What fully wakes him up is an odd sound: quiet, sharp, and repetitive. He sits up, straining to hear the direction of the sound's source. It's coming from somewhere in front of him. Right about where Sam's Comfy Castle rests, in fact.

"Sammy?" Dean whispers. Only the sound answers him. Dean creeps forward, feeling around for something to use as a weapon. _Yeah, you're 15-freakin' feet tall, _he reminds himself. _I think your hands will do just fine. _He gets to the castle and waits, letting his eyes adjust to the low light from the nearby Exit sign. The sound cuts out for a moment, then starts in again, louder than ever. Dean has no idea what could be making that noise, but he'll make it sorry for going near his brother. He stands up and raises his fist over his head, ready to strike—only to freeze. Nothing is attacking Sam. The sound he's been hearing is his brother's chattering teeth.

Dean drops his fist and regards Sam with a pitying smile. Sam is curled up on his mattress, hugging his limbs to his chest for warmth. Dean touches his big fingers to Sam's arm and finds ice-cold skin. He sighs through his nose. _Last thing I need is you turning into a popsicle… _Sam shifts in his sleep, head of messy hair flopping around as his body rolls over. Dean takes his blue button-down shirt off and lays it over the little body. It's a perfect fit—well, if you want to wear a shirt as a blanket, anyway. Sam snuggles into his newfound warmth, and Dean smiles. He makes his way back to his own bed and lies down. For whatever reason, the November cold isn't bothering him at all.

_Now if only the headache would give me a break, _he thinks, as wistful as he is sore. He shuts his eyes and eventually drifts asleep.

Some time after, Sam stirs and rolls over, tugging his blanket up under his chin as the chilled air breaks over his face. _Wait…I didn't bring any blankets… _His hands pull at the fabric covering him as he waits for his eyes to adjust. It doesn't feel like a blanket. It's soft, but not blanket soft, and it smells like Dean. Not in a bad way, just…Dean. Sam feels around some more and his hand brushes over something round and smooth. He knocks on it. Plastic. There's another one next to it, and another one past that, all in a row.

_It's his shirt. _His eyesight becomes sharp enough to see it through the shadows. The buttons, each about the size of Sam's palm, shine red with the reflected light from the Exit sign. Sam sits up and looks back at where Dean is laying. He can make out his brother's large form but can't see his face; it's just too dark. But he hears him: hoarse whispers of "stop…no…please" intermixed with grunts and the scraping of his hair against the mattress. _You're always taking care of me, _Sam thinks. _Why can't I ever take care of you? _Dean groans, and Sam smiles. No chick flick moments, not even when Dean's asleep. Sam pulls his shirt blanket up and lies back down. He listens to his brother sleep for a few minutes as the whimpers first quiet, then disappear entirely, replaced by even breathing. Knowing that Dean is once again relaxed, Sam lets himself relax enough to fall asleep.

The next morning, Sam wakes up drowning in blue cotton waves. He thrashes and kicks to free himself, and when his head finally pops out, he pushes his messy bangs out of the way and gawks at the size of Dean's shirt. It's enormous, hanging far over each side of his castle bed. The end of the shirt touches the floor.

"Oh shit," Dean's voice booms.

Sam whips around to look back at him and sees way too much at once. Big, BIG body...chest like a barn, legs into the next county, familiar face making it all so wrong… Sam stands up, followed by green eyes the size of kiddie pools.

"Sammy? You're lookin' a little green…"

Sam can't answer—he's just too stunned. _Huge…Dean…how did…way too…can't be! _

"Hey, breathe! Don't puke all over the Comfy Castle." Dean reaches out a really freakin' impossibly big hand, and Sam's last thread of sanity breaks. He staggers back, slips on a giant button, and topples over the side. He doesn't hit the ground—instead, he falls into something soft but sturdy. Sam's now IN that really freakin' impossibly big hand, and he's being lifted up to Dean's eyelevel. Dean looks him over and frowns.

"Knew I should've put up the crib railings."


	7. A Brit, a Sit, and a Fit

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Sorry this one took a little longer to get out—I hurt my hand last week, so for a while, it was as physically tough to write as it normally is mentally. But here we go. Thanks as always to Katiki for the beta work. Enjoy :)

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**Chapter Seven: A Brit, a Sit, and a Fit**

Sam scrambles to get out of Dean's hand, but his legs are jelly: instead of jumping off the thumb side, he stumbles and falls. Dean catches him in his other hand and holds him up so he's right in front of his worried expression.

"What the hell, Sam?"

Sam rolls over and sits up. "Put me down."

"You nearly passed out—"

"Dean, PUT me DOWN!" Sam glares up at the huge green eyes, only to have to look away at once. It's all Dean in front of him, but it's too MUCH Dean…that's the problem. Dean lowers his hand to the Comfy Castle, and Sam hops off and runs down the stairs. Then he hurries toward the break room as fast as his jellied legs will carry him. He hears Dean calling him, but Sam doesn't answer. He slams the break room door shut behind him, and then speeds around the table and into the bathroom, slamming that door shut as well. The lights blink on and the old ventilation fan grumbles Sam a good morning. Shaking hands grab the sink as Sam fights to get himself under control. He looks into the mirror and frowns at his white-with-fear face.

"What's the matter with you?" he mutters to his reflection. "Why'd you run away? That's still Dean back there. He'd never hurt you, you KNOW that." And of course he knows it. Even as his memory flashes images of his humongous brother catching him in his hand, Sam knows that Dean never would have dropped him. He also understands that it's not fear of Dean or even the overwhelming Crazy of the situation that's bothering him right now. Sam splashes water on his face and looks at himself again as Bobby's words come to mind:

"_People have died from this, Sam. Their hearts can't take the stress of growing."_

Sam grabs some paper towels and dabs the water off his face as he moves out of the bathroom and over to the break room door. It opens with a creak that echoes through the cleared-out warehouse, but Dean doesn't look over. He's sliding his boots on, looking just like he would any other morning. Only difference today is that his body takes up a whole corner of a warehouse. Sam guesses he's doubled in size since last night—he'll know for sure once Dean stands up. A shiver goes through Sam as he imagines what it might look like. Then he glares at his reaction. _WHAT? So he's huge, so it's weird—so what! _

_So what? _his fears shout back. _So what if he stands up and his heart gives out?!_

Dean clears his throat, snapping Sam back to attention. "Take a picture, it'll last longer," Dean says, eyes on his boots as he laces them up. Sam walks back over to Dean, trying not to stare, but the scale of this new reality is just so bizarre. What looks like normal Dean doing a normal Dean thing from the break room's vantage point becomes alien and surreal close up. Sam stands at the foot of Dean's bed and looks up. The treads in Dean's upraised boot are planting trenches in an inverse garden, with gravel pebbles the size of Sam's fist as rocky crops. The laces are as thick as anchor chains. And Dean's fingers, big, strong, and ridiculously long—

"Aren't you afraid I'm gonna smoosh you?" Dean's voice booms down at him. Sam jolts at the voice, though more from being startled from his thoughts than being caught staring again. Sam steps back until Dean's moon-sized face comes into view above his hilltop knee.

"You won't," Sam tells him. "I know that." Dean gives a curt nod as he finishes up his laces. He tucks his legs under him so that he's sitting 'Indian style,' then reaches high over Sam and grabs his blue shirt. He doesn't look at Sam at all. "Dean," Sam begins, waiting for him to look down at him. Dean doesn't. "Look, I didn't…I'm not scared of you, man, all right? I'm not. I was just surprised."

"Surprised," Dean repeats, sliding an arm through a sleeve. "More like running for your life from your brother the monster."

"Dean…"

"It's fine, Sam," Dean tells him, looking down at him at last. "It was Weird Overload. I get it." He slides his other arm through and adds, "It's weird for me too, y'know. Wake up and my brother is a Barbie doll."

Sam straightens. "I think you mean Ken doll."

Dean tilts his head, studying him for a second. "Maybe Ice Skater Ken." Sam frowns. Dean gives him a little smirk that widens into a yawn. "You think there's any coffee shop around here that serves up joe in barrels?"

"Doubt it," Sam says, thankful for the subject change. "But we do have a coffee pot and a lot of coffee. I'll get brewing. You can use the keg for a cup." He points to the big metal barrel as he says it.

"No, it'll taste wrong. Beer-flavored coffee." Dean pulls a face at the words. "Doesn't matter if I love them both—they don't play nice together."

"You'll figure something out," Sam encourages. "You always do. I mean, look," he gestures to the pile of mattresses behind him, "you built me the Comfy Castle, right? Making a coffee cup should be a snap."

Dean nods but doesn't look at him—just murmurs a small, "Yeah." Then he slaps his thighs. "I'm going to stand up now. Just thought I'd give you proper warning so I don't _surprise_ you into the bathroom again."

Sam frowns, still upset with himself for that reaction, not to mention the fact that Dean was so obviously bothered by it. But he backs up anyway as Dean sets his boots on the floor. Sam's heart crams into his throat as Dean stands up…and up…and UP…and his hair brushes the ceiling. Dean looks around as Sam's heart drops back down and beats again. Dean is fine. Really stupidly big, but fine.

"This place is three stories high," Dean says, gazing at his surroundings. "That's what, about 30 feet?" He looks down at Sam, who nods. Dean's head shakes back and forth once, and he tucks his chin down. "Damn…" He takes a step forward and his boot lands with a THUD that reverberates through the floor. Dean pauses, looks down at himself, takes another tentative step, and a smaller thud results. He treads as lightly as he can without tiptoeing as he heads toward the other side of the warehouse.

"Wait, where are you going?" Sam calls, running after him.

"Men's room," Dean barks back. Sam stops and lets Dean go ahead on his own. All Dean has told him about the place along the back and side of the building is that it's big, clean, and closed off, and that's all Sam needs to know. Sam is perfectly okay with this. He looks up when he hears Dean mutter a few swears. Dean is way too big to fit through the door that leads to his special bathroom. Even yesterday he was barely able to squeeze through, and now... Dean glances back at Sam, who is sympathetic.

"Maybe you can try going out the garage door," Sam suggests, pointing back to where he drove the moving truck into the building. Dean looks that way, seems to size it up, and then peers back down at his too tiny door.

"Fuck it." Dean brings his right foot up and kicks through the door. A big section of the wall breaks with it, and morning sunshine pours through the destruction and lights up the warehouse. Dean ducks through his new exit and goes outside.

_Dammit Dean, someone's gonna see you! _Sam runs toward the hole in the wall…and skids to a stop after only a few steps. _Wait…what if you see something you really, REALLY don't want to see? _Sam starts to turn. _But what if someone ELSE sees it…him…first? _Sam trots forward…and stops again. _Dean knows what he's doing. He said it's closed off—I'm sure he's hidden from view. It's not like he's peeing on a tree and waving at the traffic going by. _Sam looks up. _Of course…this IS Dean we're talking about…_

Sam jogs the rest of the way, takes in a breath, and looks out. He sees walls as tall as the building stretching away, with various benches and fancy, potted plants in immediate view. _A tranquility garden, _Sam realizes. _Why does a mattress warehouse need a tranquility garden? Are people that stressed out here? _Sam looks around some more as he ponders these questions. There's no roof, but this area is completely enclosed, just as Dean had said, with a Zen rock garden along the side, and winding, lined paths connecting benches to the place where the door used to be. And as for Dean…he's somewhere to Sam's left, based on the very long shadow in front of him, and that's all Sam needs to know. Sam hears him zip up, and he dashes back inside. Dean thuds and ducks through the hole in the wall, only to pause when he sees Sam standing there. Sam looks up into a frown 30 feet above him.

"What?" they ask each other. "Nothing," they answer back. Dean glares, and Sam counters with a bitch face.

"Don't you trust me?" Dean asks.

"Of course I do."

"But you still had to come and check on me, make sure I wasn't doing anything stupid."

"No, it wasn't like that."

One of Dean's eyebrows quirks up. "So you just wanted to watch me pee in a pool?"

"Dean, come on. I wasn't watching! I just—" Both of Sam's eyebrows push down, then arch back up as Dean's words sink in. "Dude…peeing in a pool? Really?"

"It's not like someone's going swimming anytime soon," Dean answers. "It's November, genius. Pool's empty. Besides, nothing else has a big enough drain." Dean crosses his arms. "You have any better ideas, now's the time to lay 'em on me."

They stand there a moment, Sam trying to look tall and tough despite only reaching halfway up Dean's shin, Dean attempting to be his normal, in-control self despite his giant stature. Sam finally breaks away.

"This is so screwed up."

"You're telling me," Dean agrees. They walk back toward their rest area, Dean taking very slow steps to keep alongside Sam, who has to walk faster just to maintain the pace. "Hey," Dean says en route. "When you were out shopping yesterday, did you buy any soap? There's a little dispenser and sink by the pool, but I used up the soap this morning." He mutters, "Stupid big hands" under his breath, and Sam catches it but doesn't comment.

"There's more soap," Sam assures him. "I bought a whole box of it. Got pit spray in bulk, too. Figured you'd need it." He crinkles his nose, pretending to look disgusted. "I figured right."

"You're not exactly linen-fresh either," Dean replies, smirking as well. "Least you get to use a real shower. I have to use the fountain out there."

"Don't wash your hair. I didn't buy any shampoo." They stop at the truck and Sam looks up at him. "I also didn't buy any hair gel or hairspray or mousse or any of the other hair products you don't think I know you use."

"Pff. Least I do something with mine. Tucking your hair behind your ears does not count as combing it, Sam."

Sam doesn't reply, just takes off, heading for the cab of the truck. "I just remembered!" he calls as he opens the door and disappears inside. When he comes back out, he's holding a toothbrush almost as tall as himself. "Ta da!" Dean smiles and takes it from him. "Stole it off a display at the store," Sam explains. "I was going to give it to you yesterday as a joke, but I forgot. Now it should be just right…" Sam trails off, hoping he didn't offend Dean by yet again bringing up how huge he's become, but Dean just broadens his smile.

"Thanks," he says, eyes displaying how touched he is by the small gesture. "Didn't happen to steal some toothpaste while you were at it…"

"Bought it in bulk, just like the other stuff." Sam goes over to a nearby pile of boxes and opens them up in turn. "Toothpaste, deodorant…" He kicks a box toward Dean, where it tumbles up to his boots. "Soap. I'll help you unpack."

So Sam works on the soap while Dean busies himself with squeezing toothpaste tubes until they burst (though only the first one explodes big enough to spray Sam, much to Dean's disappointment). It takes three tubes to cover his toothbrush, and he walks it back outside and brushes his teeth over the fountain. He cups his hands in the water, sips, and spits. It's cold and tastes pretty clean. _Cold shower though, _he thinks with dread. _That's gonna suck. _Sam calls him from just inside the hole/door, and Dean walks back to it and bends down.

"Hold out your hands," Sam instructs. Dean does, and Sam dumps the soap bars into his palms. "That's all of them. Think it'll be enough?"

Dean slams his palms together and squeezes until the soap fuses together into one big, misshapen ball. Dean holds it out to Sam with a smile. "It'll do. Thanks."

"Happy showering," Sam waves. He turns to leave, but Dean tells him to wait.

"What are the chances of getting some really big flapjacks this morning?" Dean asks, eyes sparkling.

Sam smirks but replies, "Not good." His cell phone rings from back in the sleeping area, and Sam turns away from Dean's pout and runs for it.

"Paul Bunyon got flapjacks," Dean calls, still pouting.

"You're not Paul Bunyon!" Sam calls back.

Dean sulks as he stands up, stomach growling and mouth watering for syrup and butter and crispy edges around a golden brown center. "I want flapjacks," he mopes, sounding and looking every bit like a giant, disappointed kid. He plods to the fountain instead and takes off his shirts.

It isn't so much a shower as rolling soap and ice cold water over his body as he shivers in the cold air of a November morning. It doesn't help that his body aches have grown with him, his back and thighs so merciless that he's been fighting the urge to hobble around. And his head…don't get him started on his head. Dean thinks back to when he woke up, dizzy and half-blind with headache pain. It was bad enough seeing a doll-sized Sam, but to see THREE of them swirling around each other, and Dean reaching and hoping to catch the right one when they all stumbled…

_He stumbled because he's scared of you, _his inner voice hisses. _He RAN because he's disgusted by you._

_No he isn't_, Dean growls at his thoughts. _He's freaked. So am I_.

_He's going to leave you. You're too big and too much of a problem now. _

Dean shakes his head but quickly stops himself; even the simple 'no' gesture makes his neck cramp and his vision swim. _You're completely useless like this, know that? _his inner voice comments. _You're huge, you're weak…you're the world's biggest Nothing._

"And you're the world's biggest annoyance," Dean mutters. "Now cram it. I have enough of a headache already." He steps away from the fountain and turns around…only to realize he doesn't have a towel. His huge, wet, naked body shivers in the breeze, and he cringes from the added pain and discomfort.

"This sucks." Holding a hand over his left eye, which feels about ready to pop out from the pounding behind it, he looks around the garden, hoping this Barbie Playset came with a towel closet.

_It's not a playset, _his inner voice chirps up.

_I KNOW THAT! _Dean yells back in his mind. He looks down at the tiny chairs by the tiny table with the little closed sun umbrella and the teensy cup holders. _It's just easier to pretend._ And reality hits him again, that he's huge and wrong, and two stomps and he could crush everything in this garden. _Hell, a good sneeze and I could blow this building over. _His heart jumps. What if he does sneeze? Dean imagines walls falling and Sam getting trapped under debris and rubble and mattresses, and Dean takes his hand away from his eye and covers his nose and mouth. The images get worse. He sees himself tripping and bringing the building down, coughing and bringing the building down, LAUGHING and making everything shake and collapse, then bringing the building down. His chest grows tight, and he staggers back toward the fountain and sits down. His heart is beating so hard, his lungs straining for air, that Dean's ribs feel like they're being pried apart.

_No, _Dean thinks, _stop it. That won't happen. Not if you're careful. _His heart and lungs start to give as Dean pushes the awful images out of his mind. _You're a hunter. You're in control. You won't be like this forever. Now get a grip and keep it together until you find a way to fix things. _He nods at his good advice, taking controlled breaths through his nostrils, then out his mouth. His eyes crack open and he looks to the door, relieved to not see his brother standing there. Dean yawns, big and wide, and stands back up. The world rolls around in his head for a moment before righting itself.

_God I need coffee…_ He sniffs the air, hoping to detect that wonderful coffee-brewing smell, but he only smells the soap he just used. Shivering again, he looks back at the small sink along the wall and sees a cupboard underneath. He squats down in front of it and flips it open. Four rolls of cheap brown paper towel rest inside. "Guess that'll have to do."

The dizziness and pain and dark thoughts keep pushing at him as Dean dries himself to the point where he's damp but not dripping, but he ignores everything as best he can. At least he feels more like himself again now that he's clean. He rests his toothbrush and soap ball next to the tiny sink and then gets dressed. Two cans of deodorant under each arm, a little water in his hair to make the sticky-up bits not so sticky uppy, and he's ready to go back inside and face the day.

That's when he hears a car pull up around back. The tranquility garden is just around the corner from the garage entrance, so Dean creeps back past the fountain, thudding as softly as he's able, and peers over the wall. It's not a cop car, Dean's relieved to see. Instead, it's a green piece of crap on wheels, engine whining so loudly that to Dean's trained ears, it's begging to be put out of its misery. The engine sputters off and the driver steps out. He's average height (or at least, Dean guesses he is—everyone and everything is so small now), maybe Sam's age, with long, dirty blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail, and square glasses resting on his nose. The guy walks to the back of the car, pops the trunk, and starts unloading.

_Too casual for management, _Dean thinks, noting the hiking jacket, long t-shirt, green khakis, and wool socks stuffed into Birkenstocks. _Not casual enough for a weekend first shifter. So who are you? _Dean finds he no longer cares when the next item is pulled from the trunk: a rifle.

Sam's ears perk as he hears a yelp, then a series of thuds outside the building. He frowns. "Dean?" The thudding moves along the wall and up to the hole, and Dean ducks inside.

"We've got company," Dean announces, stretching his arms out in front of him. Sam sees that Dean's hands are balled around something.

"What kind of company?"

A muffled cry sounds out from behind Dean's fingers, and Dean opens his hands and glares at the little man. "What was that?"

"I said your stupid skin is smearing up my spectacles." The man rubs his lenses on his shirt hem. "Really, Dean, I'd expect a nicer welcome for someone here to help you."

Dean frowns and picks him up by his jacket, dangling the little man in front of his face. "How do you know me?"

The man dons his glasses and nods. "I know OF you. Owen Phipps at your service." One of his sandals slips off, and he makes the mistake of looking down. "Oh bloody hell, we're high up…"

"Well I could just drop you if you want—"

"NO!" the man shrieks, legs and arms scrambling for something to hold onto. "Please, no…don't drop me." Dean holds him closer, looking him over, and Owen gasps, "Oh God, don't eat me, either. I'm gamey, all skin and bones—I'll taste awful!"

Dean looks away in disgust. "Dude…I'm a giant, not a cannibal." Owen doesn't seem convinced: he waves his arms around, trying to break free. "You keep squirming like that and I might lose my grip." Owen falls limp, and Dean nods. "That's better. Now tell us why you're here before I change my mind and drop you anyway."

"Dean, it's all right," Sam says, and Dean looks away from his little captive and down at his little brother. "That's the guy who cured Tyler. He called this morning, said he had the antidote ready. So I told him to meet us here."

Dean's gaze falls back on Owen, who has gone stiff with fear. "That so?" Dean reaches into his shirt pocket and brings out the rifle he caught Owen with earlier. "Then why bring a gun?"

"It shoots tranquilizer darts," Owen informs him, still cowering. "For the extra-flinchy types—you know, the ones that can't keep still for two seconds? Didn't know what type you were, so better safe than sorry, I reckoned." Dean stares at him, not convinced, and Owen shuts his eyes. "Can we p-please continue this interrogation at a lower altitude?" he asks in a high voice. "I'm terrible with heights."

"Please, Dean," Sam urges. "Let's hear him out."

Dean lowers Owen to the floor, never taking his eyes off him. Owen stands up on shaky legs and dusts himself off. "Thank you," he breathes, looking at both men in turn. Sam comes forward and offers Owen some coffee, but Owen declines.

"Cheers, but I've already got two energy drinks in me. Any more caffeine and I'll be bouncing off the walls." He looks up at Dean again. "I'll bet a nice cuppa would make your morning though…" Owen fishes a small pouch out of his jacket pocket, grabs a pinch of whatever is inside, and sprinkles it over the mug. He says a few words neither Sam nor Dean has heard before, and instantly, the cup and its contents grow.

"Whoa!" Dean slides his fingers around the handle and he lifts it up, looking it over. It looks and feels like a regular cup of coffee. He smiles in awe down at Owen, who waves off the wonder.

"Consider it my peace offering. Oh and drink up—the spell will only last a few minutes."

Dean sits down and takes a sip, mmm-ing at the java goodness. "Please tell me you can conjure up some flapjacks," Dean asks with hope. Owen frowns, confused, and Sam steps up between them.

"How did you do that?"

Owen shrugs. "Simple spellwork, really. Size changes are fairly easy, at least in the short run. Permanent fixes are much more tricky." He notes the discerning look he's getting from Sam and adds, "Not that I'm a witch or even a low-grade warlock. Not a demon either, for that matter." He holds out his arms to either side and says "Christo Christo Christo." He doesn't flinch once.

"So how do you know what you know?" Dean asks, taking another sip.

"My Gran taught me," Owen explains. "Now see, she WAS a witch, right, only not a bad one. Put it this way: if Hansel and Gretel had ever ventured to Gran's cabin, she would have baked them a pie, not tried to bake them into one." Sam smirks at that and sips his own coffee, joining Owen as they sit on the floor. "She just liked to help everyone. Big heart, you know? And people liked coming to her for help, especially when they didn't want the neighbors knowing they had a fairy problem, or that gnomes were stealing their vegetables." Dean and Sam both chuckle, and Owen smiles at both of them in turn. "What is it?"

"Sorry," Dean says, "'s just that we've been all over our country, and not once have we found any place where people are that comfy with anything supernatural."

"Much less anyone who knows witchcraft and welcomes them as a neighbor," Sam agrees.

"Well don't misunderstand me—it wasn't all sunshine and daisies," Owen tells them. "My Gran didn't live in a tiny cottage in the woodlands of Dartmoor because she loved being surrounded by spooky trees."

"She was an outcast," Sam ascertains, and Owen nods.

"She helped anyone that needed it, but most people still referred to her as Terrible Tabitha. Even some of those she helped. Ungrateful bastards." Owen sighs, visibly disgusted by it all. But then he shakes his head and resumes a more pleasant demeanor. "Any rate, she raised me. My parents were killed when I was five…boating accident. Gran took me in and taught me everything she knew. And her knitting circle—they were also 'in the know', so they showed me loads of tricks as well. Everything else I learned by spending more time with old books than with girlfriends—at least at first," he smirks, and Dean smirks back. "And until recently, I had my own shop in London." Owen produces a business card from his pocket and hands it to Sam.

"Hades Doormat?" he reads aloud, eyebrows raised above his teasing smile.

"Awesome name," Dean says, saluting Owen with his coffee mug. Owen grins.

"Just carrying on my Gran's good work while selling magic supplies on the side."

Sam puts Owen's card in his wallet. "So what happened?"

"Sorry?"

"You said _had a shop_. Did it burn down or something?"

"I wish. I had to close shop and flee the country." Owen's face is grave as he looks back at Sam. "People are after me."

"What people?" Dean asks.

"Dunno who they are, don't really care, to be honest. But they've tried to kill me twice and I'm not about to wait around and give them a third try."

"That explains the secrecy," Sam gathers. "The fake numbers and I.D. cards."

"I still want to help, but I can't let them find me."

"Yeah, we get that," Dean agrees. He lifts the cup for a sip, but the mug shrinks and breaks apart around Dean's fingers. What's left of his coffee splashes into a little puddle on the floor. "Sonova…" He flicks drops of coffee off his hand. "I was enjoying that!

"Warned you," Owen replies. "I could grow you another one, but I really think we should work on your problem first. Back in a tic—need to get a few supplies from the car, which is…where from here?"

Dean points him to the door by the loading dock, and Owen hurries away. Then Dean looks down at Sam, who is already looking up at Dean. "So? You trust him?"

"Seems like a decent guy," Sam replies. "Right now I'm more interested in whether he can actually help you."

Dean nods, feeling the same way. His head has started to pound again, and the room is a little swimmy. _Probably cos I haven't eaten yet, _he thinks sadly. He's still craving flapjacks, but right now he's hungry enough to eat just about anything. Even the stack of mattresses on the wall behind him is starting to look like a layer cake. But before Dean reaches for a slice of his frosted mirage, Owen comes back through the door and runs up to them.

"All right," he says, pulling the rucksack strap over his head and setting the bag on the ground. "Just a mo while I get everything in order…"

Dean sighs, knowing what's next. "Ox dung time," he grouses. "Great."

Owen chuckles. "So you know of the ox dung," he grins, taking out a large, round tin. "Do you also know how it works?"

"Don't really care about the how at this point," Dean sniffs—he swears he can already smell it. "Just the consequences."

"It's quick and painless, I promise you." Owen takes the tin and what looks like a ping pong paddle and brings them over to Dean. He opens the lid and scoops the paddle through a grayish substance. It doesn't look like shit, but it smells like it. Dean gags, but Owen seems unaffected. "I need one of your little fingers," he tells him. Dean looks distrustful, and Owen explains, "We have to test it first, make sure I got the right blend of ingredients. It's not just ox dung, you know."

Dean looks at Sam, who looks both amused and sorry, and Dean holds out his left pinky. Owen takes the very end of it in one hand and holds it in place while his other hand brings the paddle up and smears the substance over the area between the nail and the first knuckle. The stuff is cold and feels a bit like wet clay to Dean. Job done, Owen steps away and drops the paddle back in the tin. "Now we wait."

"What's going to happen?" Sam asks, stepping up to Owen (and grimacing at the smell just as deeply as Dean has been). "Is his finger going to shrink?"

"No—it takes time and loads more of the mixture for any visible results. What we're looking for now is absorbency. See, there's something in ox dung that acts like a magnet to hydros venom: it draws the poison out through the victim's skin. And as it absorbs it, the ox dung turns blue, hardens, and crumbles off."

"But you said you used other stuff besides ox dung," Sam points out.

"I had to. For one, this is not a normal hydros case. Dean didn't just get bitten, as that little boy did. He got a much higher dose. So I added a bit of extra seasoning, if you will, to make the mixture strong enough for Dean."

"So how long till we know if it's worked?" Dean asks.

"We should know in a few minutes."

So they wait, all eyes watching the grey splotch on Dean's finger. Five minutes go by without any change. Ten minutes, and still nothing. At the 17-minute mark, Owen goes over for a closer look, touching the stuff here and there and frowning.

"It isn't working, is it," Dean mutters.

"No. But not to worry…" Owen reaches into his rucksack and produces four more tins. "I brought different blends just in case this happened."

"Great!" Dean answers, giving him a fake smile. Owen kneels down to open the top tin, and Dean's smile drops as he looks at Sam. Sam gives him a look of empathy as he gestures to Dean to hold out his other pinky. Dean sighs but gives in.

An hour and both pinkies, two ring fingers, and an index finger later, and Dean is still huge, very hungry, even more headachy, and out of patience. Owen is now mixing several of the tins together, and Dean sends them flying with a swoop of his hand, nearly sending Owen with them.

"Now don't get testy, Dean," Owen says, only to suffer Dean's full death glare right in his face.

"_Testy_," Dean snaps. "At this point, you're lucky I don't do _killy_."

Owen regards him with calm. "I know you're frustrated—"

"Frustrated? Me? Wow, thanks Captain Obvious." Dean gets to his feet.

"Where are you going? I've nearly got the next batch ready!"

Dean sweeps his arms through the air. "Nuh-uh, no more. Find another way. One that actually WORKS." He thuds back toward the hole in the wall, wondering aloud where the hell he put his soap. Owen just squats down and puts the lids back on the tins. He hears Sam walk up behind him, and Owen shakes his head.

"I'm sorry," he tells him. "I thought at least one of these would work. I was up all night mixing and measuring. Can't understand what went wrong."

"Maybe your ingredients were old," Sam suggests, trying to be helpful. "Or maybe you got the ratios wrong."

Owen is shaking his head as Sam is speaking. "No no no, I picked and gathered the ingredients myself—they're as fresh as possible. And the measurements were spot on, I know they were…" His eyes glaze over as he falls into his thoughts. "I wonder if the mixture is the real problem here. It's almost as if…"

Sam waits for him to finish, but Owen says nothing more. He waves a hand in front of Owen's glasses. "Owen? You there?"

"Hm? Yes, sorry. Just thinking…"

Sam gets his phone out. "You know, Bobby's been helping us with the research. Maybe you could run some ideas by him? He knows pretty much everything about anything…" Sam highlights Bobby's number and smiles when he hears the grumpy greeting at the other end.

"Hey Bobby, it's Sam. Look, that guy I was telling you about, Owen Phipps—he's here and he's trying to help Dean, but so far, what he's using isn't working. I was hoping maybe you could come up with a few answers for him."

"Well, what's he tried?" Bobby asks.

"I'll let him tell you all about that—hang on." Sam hands the phone off to Owen, who takes it and walks away as he talks. Sam hears Dean coming back, so he moves to the hole in the wall to check on his brother. Dean ducks into view before Sam gets there.

"How you feeling?" Sam asks him, not liking how pale Dean's face has become.

"Fine," Dean says, waving off Sam's concern, as always. "Clean. I used up all my soap, though. Sorry." He sees Owen talking on the phone in the distance. "Who's he talking to?"

"Bobby. They're trying to figure out what went wrong."

Dean grumbles something as he puts a hand high up on the wall and leans on it. His heart is pounding so hard that Sam can hear it. "Dean, maybe you should lie down. You don't look so great."

"I don't need to lie down," Dean snaps, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I just need to stop being a freakin' giant guinea pig for British hippies and their patchouli potions."

"He's trying to help."

"Yeah, the expert on the hydros, and even HE can't help me! Face it, Sam, I'm gonna be stuck like this forever, huge and weird and fucking USEless—" Dean cuts off with a sharp gasp, and the remaining color drains from his face as his mouth falls slack. He looks down at Sam and mouths his name, clutching at his chest. Sam can only stare up at him, helpless.

"Dean?!"

Dean breaks away from the wall, moving unsteadily toward the sleeping area. Sam runs after him, but Dean looks down and brushes him away, sending Sam sliding along the floor. Sam gets back to his feet just as Dean drops to his knees and keels over, head smashing into the Comfy Castle as his body slams on the ground. The entire place jumps but does not fall. Sam and Owen race over to Dean. They stand in front of his face, pools of his cold sweat gathering at their feet. Dean's breaths go from tight wheezes to shallow intakes, and his scrunched-up muscles relax into unconsciousness. His body sags and his arm drops down. Both Owen and Sam jump out of the way before they're crushed by his hand.

"What happened?" Owen asks, just as scared as Sam. Sam just shakes his head, carefully lifting up one of Dean's eyelids. The eye doesn't look at him, just stays frozen. Sam closes it again and steps away.

"H-he was upset, and then he couldn't breathe…" Shock numbs Sam's body, and Owen has to stand in front of Sam to get him to look at him.

"Sam?" Owen pushes. "I can't help him if you don't tell me."

Sam blinks and looks at nothing. "I think he just had a heart attack."


	8. The Fickle Flick of Fate

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal **(continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N: **Sorry about the posting delay—this chapter gave me a lot of trouble. If not for Katiki's awesome beta help, I'd still be at square one. So big thanks to her, and thanks to all of you for being patient with me. I swear the pace will pick up again next chapter…

* * *

**Chapter Eight: The Fickle Flick of Fate**

_Water._

_There's never enough water._

_Even now, it's all around him, and he needs more. But he's stuck. Can't move forward, can't turn around and go back. No room. He's too big. _

_He has to get out._

_He must find more water._

_Then he sees it below him: a tiny crack. Only big enough to let a single drop of water out at a time._

_He's far too big to fit through…at least, if he stays as he is._

_Water. Get through, get away, and find more water._

_He dissolves, skin and muscle turning to liquid, and he settles around the crack. A drop of himself falls free, landing in a small puddle on the floor below. Another drop. And another. He knows he must be patient, for it will take a very long time for all of him to fall free, but it will be worth it._

_Water. He NEEDS more water._

_And flapjacks._

_And syrup…and is that…bacon?_

The dream washes away as wonderful smells fill his nostrils. Dean, still lying on his side from when he collapsed, blinks his eyes open and sees his doll-sized brother standing sideways, holding a tray.

"Dean. Hey!" Sam sets the tray down and looks at Dean, trying to smile past the layers of concern on his face. "You've been out for half an hour. How're you feeling?"

Dean breathes in and gives a sleepy smile. "…flapjacks." He reaches out and wraps his fingers around Sam's lower half, pulling him forward.

"Dean?! What are you—"

"Flaaaaapjaaaaacks," Dean purrs, sounding tired but happy as he brings Sam toward his face. Sam is squirming to get away.

"I'm not flapjacks, Dean…" Sam kicks and twists, even puts his hands on Dean's knuckle and pushes, but Dean has too strong a hold on him. Dean's mouth opens wide, and Sam goes white. "Oh God…wake up Dean, please, you can't—DON'T!"

Dean turns his head and yawns. Then he smiles again, eyes still heavy with sleep, and pulls Sam up to his shoulder. "You brought me flapjacks!" he beams as he envelops his brother in a big but very gentle hug. "Thank you, Sammy." Dean frowns a little when he feels something odd. He holds Sam away from him again and gives him a once-over. "Are you…trembling?"

"NO," Sam answers a little too quickly. Dean rests his hand on the ground and tilts it so that Sam slides off. Sam gets up and goes back to the tray. "Owen went on a breakfast run…said he'd grow yours for you once you woke up. He's outside." Sam picks up the tray and turns around, and Dean is leaning forward, his face as tall as Sam and RIGHT THERE in front of him. The little coffee mug and tiny plastic utensils start to clatter against the tray.

"You thought I was gonna eat you," Dean states.

"What?! No! Psh—course not. That's…" Both men notice Sam has moved away, and Sam stops and scowls at his really big brother. "That's crazy, Dean."

"Then why are you freaking out?"

Sam's back goes rigid and his teeth clench. "I'm not freaking out." His body starts to shake again, and Sam looks away. "I'm just cold. It's cold in here."

"Uh-huh." Dean reaches for the tray, and Sam flinches. "Put it down before you drop it," Dean tells him. "I earned those flapjacks and I don't want them falling into your shit bricks."

Sam glares at that. "I'm not scared of you, Dean," he growls. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Saying it is one thing. Meaning it's another."

Sam rolls his eyes and sets the tray on the ground. The moment his fingers let go of the plastic, he's swept into the air, courtesy of Dean holding him by his flannel shirt. "Dean?! What the—"

"You need to work on your trust issues, little brother." Dean stands up and puts Sam on his shoulder. Sam takes one look at how high they are and his fingers grasp for handholds in Dean's shirt fabric. Dean starts to walk, footsteps thudding around the warehouse.

"Dean…what are you doing?"

"Walking." His big head turns and looks at Sam. "Why, ride too slow? Want me to run?" He moves faster, and Sam holds on for dear life as his legs flail out behind him.

"Dee-EEeee-Eeee-EEEEaaan!"

Dean laughs and skids to a stop, hand carefully wrapping around Sam to make sure he doesn't fly off. He takes his hand away and grins like a madman. Sam glowers back from where he's cowering under the flap of Dean's collar, and Dean happily ignores it. "Dude, relax! I'd never let you go kersplat, all right?"

"I'm not the one in danger of going kersplat!" Sam yells, looking frazzled as he stands up. "Stop running around and lie down right now! You just had a heart attack!"

Dean throws him a look. "Dude, I'm 29, not 92."

"Then why were you clutching at your chest?" Sam asks, pointing his finger between Dean's eyes. "You couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, and then you dropped unconscious."

"Doesn't mean it was a heart attack." Dean watches as Sam grumbles and walks behind his head. "What? I've seen those old people commercials. Heart attacks come with a numb left arm and stuff. I didn't have that." Sam appears on Dean's left shoulder and frowns, still not convinced. "Fine, I'll prove I'm okay. Ride's not over yet anyway…" Covering Sam again, Dean runs, slides, and does a crooked somersault onto his mattress bed. "SAFE!" He's laughing as he takes his hand away from his highly unamused and very rattled brother. "Oh come on!" Dean chides as he stands back up. "We should find a carnival somewhere…I could charge admission. We'd make a killing in ticket sales!"

"Dean…"

"Wonder how many tickets it would take to Ride the Dean?" He smirks. "Heh, not that way…at least, not till later…we'd have to charge group rates—"

_POW!_ Something jabs into Dean's left eye, and as his hands fly up to cover it, he feels Sam topple off his shoulder. Dean's quick reflexes catch him before he's even halfway to the ground, and Dean holds him up to his face. "Gotcha," Dean says, looking at him with one eye—the other is concealed by his left hand. "Even though you just punched me in the fucking EYE. What the hell, Sam?"

"If you're going to act like a giant kid, I'm gonna treat you like one," Sam replies. Dean's good eye glares at him.

"What part of punching me in the eye with your creepy doll fist is treating me like a kid?!"

"Dean, lie down or else."

Dean stands tall and holds Sam right up in front of his nose. "Or else WHAT, shrimpy?"

A bitchface to end all bitchfaces forms, and Sam kicks Dean above the left nostril. As Dean swears below him, Sam whisks across Dean's right arm and onto his shoulder. Sam grabs onto Dean's ear and twists it as hard as he's able. Dean bellows and swats at him, but Sam dodges it and crawls under Dean's blue shirt. Holding on to the grey tee, he climbs down to the middle of Dean's back…and tickles him.

"Sonova bitch!" Dean's arms reach for the nuisance, but Sam easily avoids him, able to see the shadows of Dean's big hands through the blue canopy all around him.

"And you're a bigger jerk than ever!" Sam calls back, tickling even more. Dean stumbles this way and that, swearing his head off, grabbing for Sam and failing, and Sam laughs in victory. Dean HATES being tickled—always has, always will. Partly because of being vulnerable, mostly because his back is so damn ticklish. "Maybe we should sell tickets to this!" Sam yells. "See how many ticklers it takes to bring Dean Winchester to his knees." Dean drops a second later, and Sam laughs again. "Just one—me! Sam Winchester, giant slayer extraordinaire—"

Dean takes a wheezing breath, and Sam freezes. _I didn't mean that literally! Shit…_ Sam crawls up and out of Dean's shirt just as Dean falls forward onto his hands. "Dean?" Dean grabs him, and for a moment Sam thinks he's faking it, but then Dean weakly releases his fingers and lets Sam tumble to the floor. Sam walks up to him right away, standing underneath Dean's lowered chin and panting mouth. He looks as pale and sickly as he had right before his attack.

"I knew it," Sam says with concern. "You're still sick."

"Not…sick, just…" Dean grunts with pain and lifts one hand to his heart. Sam's eyes turn to saucers.

"Oh shit…Dean? Is it another heart attack? What?"

"How many times—it wasn't a heart attack! I'm just winded from your evil tickling." Dean brushes his shirts off and comments, "If you were so worried about my heart, then why'd you put me through that?" Dean suffers a tiny glare from his brother at that remark, and Dean gives a little grin. "Aww Sammy, you're so cute when you're mad."Sam glares even harder in reply. Dean leans forward to grab him and hug him again, but he stops himself. _Since when are you so huggy? _Dean wonders, still looming over Sam. _Is this some weird side effect from the giant thing?_

"I only tickled you because YOU had to play Tilt-a-Whirl with me."

"Hey, that was way better than the Tilt-a-Whirl. That was the Hurricane, easy, with a little Gravitron to keep things interesting." Dean gives his little boy smile, the one he uses to charm his way out of anything, but Sam won't have it. He stands his ground, looking royally pissed. Dean thinks it's adorable.

"I'm just trying to take care of you, jackass, but you won't even tell me what's wrong. And hey, why should I expect any different, right? You ALWAYS do that." Sam crosses his arms and looks away. "I'm sick of it."

Dean's smile drops. "Fine, you want in? You want the rundown of what hurts?" Sam gives him an 'I'm waiting' look, and Dean nods. "Everything hurts, Sam. EVERYthing. My back's kicked in, my legs and arms are shredded, and my head is pounding so much that I wish someone would chop it off, just so I don't have to fucking FEEL it anymore. It's nonstop and every time I grow, the pain grows with me. THERE, that's everything. Happy now?"

He glares at Sam, who looks small and alarmed. Dean's face softens. "Sammy…I don't tell you this stuff because there's nothing you can do about it. Let's face it: there isn't enough Tylenol in the world at this point, much less a bar that serves my kind…" He sits back again and brings one knee up. "It sucks, y'know?" he sighs, not looking at Sam. "But I'm dealing."

"Newsflash, Dean," Sam says without mirth. "This giant thing doesn't just affect you."

"No shit, Sherlock. I get reminded every time I look at you and you flinch."

Sam surprises Dean by grabbing onto his jeans and crawling up his shin. He stands on top of Dean's bent knee and looks into the big green eyes. "Dean, for the last time, I'm NOT afraid of you." Dean's gaze starts to falter, and Sam ducks to keep his eyes on Dean's. "Hey…look at me." Dean does. "I'm serious, man. You're still my brother. I trust you with my life." Dean nods, seeming to accept that. "But I need you to trust me, too. Just because you're a giant doesn't mean you've outgrown good advice. You have to rest, and no," he points at Dean when he starts to grumble, "it's not because I think you're weak or weird or anything. Remember what Bobby said about other hydros victims and their hearts?"

"Course," Dean grunts. "Doesn't mean I want to talk about it." Sam gets his Argue Face on, and Dean holds his hand up. "Look, I don't know what happened," he admits, "but it wasn't a heart attack. Felt more like someone was trying to pull my ribs out. Couldn't breathe. Then my headache went whammo and I got so dizzy…" Dean puts a hand to his head, only to notice the worry that crosses Sam's face, and he drops it at once. "I'm all right, Sam. Really." Then a thundercloud rumbles from inside Dean's stomach. "Can I have my flapjacks now, or do we have to do another round of caring and sharing?"

"Only if you promise to lie down after you've eaten."

"Awwwwwuh…" Dean whines. Sam slides down Dean's shin and goes over to the tray. He takes the fork and knife and starts cutting into the flapjacks. Dean leans forward at once.

"What are you doing?"

Sam takes a three-layered piece, swirls it in syrup, and lifts it up. "Promise me, Dean."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would."

"You already denied me my pie, now you're taking my flapjacks too?!"

"Say it."

"Sam…"

"I'm waiting, Dean…" Sam lifts the bite up to his mouth and opens up, syrup and butter dripping down the fork and back onto the plate.

"All right, fine!" Dean yells. "I'll lie down and get all the goddamn rest you want! Just let me have my damn breakfast."

Sam smiles, satisfied, and rests the bite back on the plate. "I'll get Owen."

"No need, I'm already here," Owen calls from behind Sam. He's got the keg and is trying to pull it with him, but it won't budge. Dean's eyes light up, and Owen shakes his head. "It's not beer, Dean. Sorry to disappoint."

Dean leans forward and reaches over to Owen, lifting the shooter-sized keg with ease. "What is it?"

"Water. Filled it up outside and shrunk it so I could carry it in. Didn't use enough powder, apparently, cos I only made it halfway back before it normalized." Owen shakes his head at himself, muttering under his breath as he walks up to Dean. Motioning for Sam to keep back, Owen removes a pouch from his jacket. "Eat quickly, Dean. This is the last of the growth powder."

"You kidding? I'll inhale that mother," Dean replies, eyes hungry.

Owen stands over the food, only to pause and look up. "Don't you want to drink your water first?"

"You're starting to look like a sausage link, Owen."

Owen sprinkles and incants and gets away in three seconds flat. The tray grows to Dean's proportions and he digs in, stuffing his mouth and mmming as his craving and hunger are finally met. Owen and Sam take a few steps back as the syrupy crumbs fly.

"All right, no need to murder your brekkie," Owen comments. Some butter hits him in the face, and Owen brushes it off with his sleeve. "Drink some water before you choke."

Dean shoves a strip of bacon into his full mouth and points at Owen with his fork. "Whuyerfoo tho obtheffed wifde wawar?"

Owen frowns. "Pardon?"

"He said, 'why are you so obsessed with the water?'" Sam translates. Owen turns his frown on him. Sam shrugs, used to Dean talking with his mouth full.

"He was calling for it," Owen replies, glancing back up at Dean. "Remember? While he was out. Figured he's parched is all."

Dean swallows and signals a 'no' with his fork. "That was just my dream. I'm always dreaming about water now." He cuts a huge bite for himself and chews happily, then picks his coffee up and slurps the mug half empty.

"What sorts of dreams?" Owen asks, looking pensive. Sam's about to tell Owen to forget it, that Dean never shares his dreams, when Dean swallows and starts talking.

"I'm in the water, and it's always in a little space…like a tube or something. And it's weird…it's like I have this need to find more water. More space too, but always more water." He takes another bite and adds, "I feel so angry, like there's nothing worse in the world than me not getting more water. Weird, huh." Dean lifts the remnants of his flapjacks to his mouth, only to pause when he sees the dark look on Owen's face. "What? Something wrong?"

"Possibly," Owen says, cryptic. Then he waves Dean on. "Finish eating, Dean. I have to confer with your friend Bobby." Owen turns and pulls out his cell. Sam walks with him.

"Owen? What? Is Dean all right?"

Owen holds a finger up. "In a moment, Sam. Just need a second opinion from someone in the know." He greets Bobby on the phone and steps away. Sam tries not to be offended by that statement. It doesn't work.

_Last thing I need is you keeping things from me too…_ Frustrated, Sam looks back at Dean, who is licking the plate. He freezes when he realizes he's being watched. Sam smirks and gives Dean a 'really?' look. Dean sets the plate down, grabs his coffee, then moves backward along the floor until his back rests against the wall. He sits low, saluting Sam with his mug as his brother comes up to him.

"Compromise," Dean says. "Just let me finish this before it goes shrinky dink on me."

Sam nods and goes up to Dean's free left hand. He rolls it over so that it's palm up, and then sits down in it. Dean's eyebrows raise, and Sam shrugs up at him. "What? You're comfy." He adopts the same reclining pose as Dean, leaning his head against the base of Dean's thumb. He feels Dean relax—not that Dean was shaking or even looking upset. Sam just knows him. He also knows that small gestures get through to Dean much more effectively than any words or reassurances. Dean sips his coffee above him, and Sam smiles.

They see Owen approaching at the same time, and both men sit up and lean forward. "I'm going to put Bobby on speaker phone so he can join us for this convo," Owen explains. He presses the conference button, then turns the volume to maximum and holds the phone up above his head. "Go ahead, Bobby."

"You mind telling me why the hell you didn't mention these water dreams before now?" Bobby barks at Dean. Owen and Sam look up at Dean, who frowns in confusion.

"Uh…because they're just dreams?"

"That's where you're wrong," Owen says, and Dean's eyes fall on him. "At least, we believe you MIGHT be wrong. There are other factors that could be at work here, but the coincidences are far too numerous for us to simply write your visions off as mere dreams—"

"Visions?" Dean and Sam say in unison.

"Not like Sam gets," Bobby corrects right away. "More like seeing through someone else's eyes. Or in your case, Dean, seeing through some THING'S eyes. The hydros."

"The hydros is dead," Dean reminds them all. "I killed it myself. Sam an' I watched it burn."

"You sure about that?" Bobby asks. "Did every single last part of that critter get scorched?"

Dean and Sam look at each other with guilt, and Sam scratches behind his neck as Dean answers, "Well…we sorta had to leave before we got caught by the water police."

"Dammit boys…"

"We left it burning!" Sam insists. "It was at least 95% gone, Bobby. We figured it was enough."

"95% ain't 100%," Bobby grumbles back. "Why do you think I told you to make sure you burned every last bit? If even one SCALE survives, the damn thing can regenerate itself!"

Dean and Sam look at Owen, who nods at the fact. "All it needs is water and time," he informs them.

"Fine, we'll hunt it down and kill it again," Dean says.

"It's not that simple anymore, Dean. We believe you're connected to the hydros."

Dean smirks. "I may be bigger, guys, but I'm not growing scales."

"Not like that," Bobby grouses. "In your blood. When you got covered in hydros goop, did any of it go down your throat?"

Dean looks revolted but says nothing, and Sam nods at his reaction, appearing a bit sick himself. "I'll take Dean's reaction as a yes, Bobby."

"It wasn't just venom that came out," Owen says. "It's highly possible that blood was mixed in. And since you ingested it, you became bound to the beast."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asks, not liking at all where this is going.

"It means, Sam, that whenever the hydros grows, Dean grows as well," Bobby answers. All eyes go to Dean, who leans back against the wall and looks up at the ceiling.

"There goes my Sunday…" Dean sighs.

"It explains the growth spurts," Owen continues. "Most hydros victims suffer a steady growth, as young Tyler did. But Dean is growing in fits and starts, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. Hypothetically, it coincides with when the hydros grows as well. Dean, in your dreams, have you ever dreamt of growing?"

Dean nods, still looking at the ceiling. "Few times, yeah. Then I wake up and I'm bigger."

Owen holds his hand out in a 'there you have it' gesture. "Proof's in the pudding."

"Yeah, but in my last dream, I—the hydros...whatever…it turned to water." Dean holds his arms out as he looks himself over. "Shouldn't I be a puddle by now?"

Owen looks stumped. "I've no idea…I'm sorry."

"So how connected are they?" Sam asks. No one answers him. "I mean, let's say we track down the hydros and kill it. Does Dean die too?"

"Good question," Dean murmurs.

"Don't think it's that kind of connection," Bobby replies. "Dean isn't turning into a snake or a lake, right? He's just getting bigger. So the connection is hopefully just the blood and venom—the growth and the dreams."

"Hopefully," Sam repeats, getting angry. Owen holds his hands up to calm him.

"You have to understand, Sam, this is very rare. Hydros victims are in and of themselves rare, but this, the blood connection…I've only ever heard of it happening twice in known history."

"And in both those cases," Bobby continues, "the hydros was killed and the victim lived."

"Did the victim go back to normal?" Dean asks. Bobby keeps quiet, and Owen looks down. "So I'm stuck like this no matter what, is that what no one wants to tell me?" Still nothing, so Dean smirks, bitter, and stands up. "That's just great."

"We'll find a way to fix you if it kills us," Bobby swears through the phone.

"Nice, you'll die trying to help me! That'll make everything better."

"Cut the crap, Dean. We have a plan."

Dean eyes fall on the little phone, and he thuds back to Owen, looks down at him, and waits. Sam walks up next to Dean and stands by his right boot. "Well?" Sam asks for both of them.

"If we can capture the hydros, we can make an anti-venom," Bobby explains. "Cure Dean with the same thing that infected him."

"Will that work?" Sam asks Owen. Owen nods.

"Think so. It's never been tried, but we already know the ox dung had no effect. This is our best chance."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Dean asks. He takes a step toward the garage door, Sam walking with him. "You chase it out of the sewers, Sammy, and I'll rip its head off." He cracks his knuckles. "Payback is a bitch."

Owen runs in front of them and holds his hands up. "You can't go, Dean! You'll drop dead before you get halfway there!" Dean and Sam both stop and stare. Owen taps at his chest. "It's your heart," he tells Dean. "It can't take the stress."

Dean rolls his eyes. "For the last time, I didn't have a heart attack!"

"No one's sayin' you did," Bobby comments. Dean proudly mouths 'told you so!' down at Sam, who ignores him. "But just cos you're connected to a magical water snake don't make you magical yourself," Bobby goes on to say. "Human body isn't made to be so big—that's why you're in a world of hurt."

"And your heart and lungs are getting the worst of it," Owen adds.

"Picture someone trying to run the Impala with a 4-cylinder," Bobby says, making Dean shudder. "Not nearly enough muscle."

Owen nods. "That's why you have to condition yourself, Dean. Get your body used to its new weight and stature. Push-ups would be helpful. Or perhaps you could walk a few laps around this building."

"Just make sure you rest in between," Bobby instructs. Dean makes a face. "Don't pull that face on me, boy," Bobby says, making Dean look around for Bobby's hidden camera. "We're trying to help you here. In fact, I'm getting in my car right now. Be there by tonight. Then Sam n' I'll hunt down the hydros. Think you can behave yourself till then?"

"I'll keep an eye on him, Bobby," Sam says. Dean rolls his eyes and plops down on his mattress bed, secretly enjoying it when Sam and Owen nearly fall over from the resulting vibration. Owen closes his phone and heads for the door. Sam tells him to hold up. They walk to the door by the loading dock, and Sam turns his back on Dean so he doesn't have to see his brother's prying stares.

"I need to know the truth, Owen. Is this anti-venom cure going to work, or did you just make up a solution so Dean and I would feel better?"

Owen pushes his glasses up his nose as he looks up at Sam. "Like I said, it's never been done before, but it's the very best chance we've got. Bobby is going to bring a few supplies, and I'm off to find the necessary ingredients to add to the venom, which are NOT going to be easy to obtain, mind you." Sam frowns anxiously back at Dean, and Owen puts his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Not to worry, Sam. We'll help him. I promise."

"But what if he gets worse before you can make your cure?"

"Just keep him calm, make sure he does some light exercise. Let me worry about the rest." He goes to the door and promises to keep Sam informed on the latest. Sam sees him off, then turns around and has a look at Dean. He is holding his tiny-again mug over his open mouth, pouring the drops onto his tongue and shaking it like there's still some coffee goodness trapped inside. He gives up and sets the mug on the ground. As Sam watches on, Dean looks at his mattress bed and sighs.

"Need a bigger bed if I'm gonna get any rest," he mutters, and he reaches over to the closest pile of mattresses and pulls them over. "Think you can find me more worksuits, Sammy?" he asks. Sam waves that he'll look, and he moseys toward the break room.

_He's trying to keep himself busy,_ Sam thinks, knowing the only thing Dean hates more than waiting is showing any sort of weakness. Dean coughs hard, and Sam whirls around, but Dean waves that he's all right.

"Swallowed wrong," his watery voice tells Sam. Sam nods and goes into the break room.

_Is this how it's going to be now? _Sam worries as he idly opens lockers. _Jumping any time he coughs, expecting his heart to go out any time he stands up? _Sam slams a locker door shut. He can't just sit there and do nothing. _What if the anti-venom doesn't work? What if we can't find the hydros again? What if we missed something and there's an answer just waiting for us? _He bangs his fist on the metal. "What if he dies while you sit here freaking about the 'what ifs'," he mutters to himself, beyond frustrated.

"Go, Sam."

Dean's words bring Sam out of the break room. Dean seems to have given up on his bed already and instead is busying himself with finding a better place for the TV. "Last thing I need is you climbing the walls with a bad case of cabin fever," Dean says. He whistles and points to the door. "Get."

"Dean," Sam says as he walks closer, "I'm not leaving you. What if something happens?"

Dean flattens him with a look. "So what, I'm a big baby now?" He goes back to the TV, lifting it with one hand and looking around. "I can survive 15 minutes without you, y'know."

"But—"

"Sam." Dean kneels and smiles down at him. "It'll be all right. I'm just going to sit here and watch some TV, maybe do some push-ups like Owen said. Go get some air. Run some errands if you want—ooh, get my car. I miss her. She's probably been up all night worrying about me."

Sam smirks a bit at that. "You trying to get rid of me?"

Dean checks his watch. "Well the 50-foot woman's dropping by soon, so if you wanna stay and get flattened by our gigantic sexcapades, hey, feel free."

Sam crosses his arms, still smirking. "No way would the 50-foot woman be into you. You're not even as tall as her."

"You got something against bigger women Sammy?" Dean shakes his head and tsks him. Sam rolls his eyes and walks over to the garage door opener. Dean stands back up as the door opens. "Damn she was hot," Dean says, going back to the TV. "Can't believe I actually get to do her. Think I could make a condom out of the pool cover?"

"I don't know. Did you pee on it on your first bathroom run?"

Dean's grin turns into a tight smile as he nods a 'yeah yeah' at Sam, and Sam gets into the cab of the moving van. Before he heads out, he takes one last look back at Dean, who is busy anchoring the TV up on an empty shelf on the wall. His hand is on his back as he sits down. Sam wonders if Dean knows how pale he still looks.

"Dude, enough with the mother hen action," Dean remarks, turning to look at his brother. "You're making me nervous. You wanted me to rest, right?" He holds his arms out. "Then stop staring at me with your beady little eyes and let me rest!" Dean smiles as he shoos. Sam smiles back and starts up the truck.

The smile drops as Sam pulls out into traffic. He's not really sure where he's going to go first, just that he will not, under any circumstances, be gone long. _He needs help now. _His fingers have his phone out before he even thinks of doing so. He looks at the name he's highlighted and puffs out a breath of air, knowing how much Dean is going to hate this. Sam puts the phone to his ear anyway.

"Hey, Ruby?" he says to her voice mail. "It's me. I'm, uh…calling about Dean. He's in big trouble, and you might be the only one who can help us."

* * *

Sam has only been gone for about 15 minutes when Dean hears the door open. He's in the middle of a push-up and is facing away from the door, so he just calls out a 'hey' as he pushes himself all the way up. "So doing push-ups when you're 30 feet tall and gravity is not your friend? Not all that easy," he wheezes, dropping himself back down. "Feel like an old man here, Sammy. It's embarrassing."

"Aw, can't get it up, huh Dean?" a female voice teases. Dean looks over as Ruby walks into view. She's wearing that self-righteous smirk of hers that never fails to crawl right under Dean's skin.

"What are you doing here," he asks flatly, not really caring.

"Sam called…said you were in big trouble. Didn't realize he was being literal. Where is Sam anyway?"

"Out." Dean makes a mental note to gently explain to his brother that "I'm fine" and "call Ruby" do NOT mean the same thing. He sits up and rubs at the tension already forming behind his forehead. "Well, false alarm," he tells Ruby. "I'm just swell. Bye."

"Denial, Dean? How cute." She steps into a slow pace, arms crossed, stupid smirk still on her lips. "Can't say I blame you, though, now that you're a bigger jackass than ever."

"And you're still the same little bitch," Dean throws back. "Door's thataway. Don't let it hitcha where the good Lord splitcha. Oh wait!" Dean gives a look of mock surprise as Ruby glares at him. "That's right. You're a _demon_, not a real girl! Golly, my mistake."

"This demon might be willing to help you out of your latest mess," she hisses. "IF you'd shut your gigantic pie hole for a few seconds."

Dean gives a belittling laugh, then leans down right in her face. "I don't want your kind of help." His face falls into a scowl, and he stands back up and thuds toward the hole in the wall. To his utter annoyance, she meets him there. "How the hell do you move so fast?"

She points at herself. "Demon, not a real girl, remember?"

"I also remember telling you to leave." He ducks through the hole and into the tranquility garden. She runs past his boots and stands in front of him.

"Why don't you trust me, Dean?" Ruby asks, sounding exasperated.

"Could be the demon thing," Dean condescends. "Could be the witch thing." He stops walking, squats down, and looks down at her. "But mainly, it's because I know in my gut that you're up to something." He glares at her a few moments before he gets back up and reaches toward the fountain, cupping his hands and splashing water on his face.

"Sam trusts me," she replies matter-of-factly. Dean chuckles as he wipes his face off with the hem of his tee.

"That's because you suck up to him, tell him everything he wants to hear, you sweet little con artist you."

"I give him the support he needs," Ruby fires back. "Somebody has to. All you ever do is tell him he's wrong, treat him like a freak."

Dean very nearly steps on her for that. It's only the idea of having to clean out her guts from his boot treads that stops him.

"Truth hurts, huh," she smiles.

"My brother," Dean growls, fighting to keep his anger in check, "is NOT a freak. And you're the only one around here that's wrong."

Ruby's nose crinkles at that. "Big talk coming from a freak whose ass has its own ZIP code." She starts into a small pace in front of his shoes, arms folded, face smug. "Dean Winchester. He'd rather die as a giant than accept my help and be human again." She stops and smiles at him. "It'd be hilarious if it weren't so pathetic."

Dean is rubbing at his forehead again. "Are you still talking?"

"Why is it so difficult for you to accept that I'm on your side? You think just because I'm a demon that the story ends there? That's so SHALLOW, Dean. And I know you're a shallow guy, but for fuck's sake…you of all people should understand that there's more grey in the world than black and white." She chuckles and shakes her head. "It's hilarious that you'll excuse Sam for using his powers, but when I use mine, oooh, it's sick and wrong. HOW many times have I used them to help you chuckleheads? Saved your sorry asses from beat down after beat down…" She whirls around and points up at him. "I don't HAVE to help either of you, y'know. You're not exactly the star players on Team Humanity. But I help you anyway. Risk my own life by turning my back on my own kind just to help YOU two keep breathing another day. And what thanks do I get?" She throws her arms out to the side as she turns back into her pace. "Nothing but insults and threats and—"

_FFFWHIP! _Ruby goes sailing high over the wall of the tranquility garden, courtesy of Dean flicking her away with nothing but his giant middle finger and thumb. He watches her fly off, grinning as her tiny form disappears from view.

"DAMN that felt good."

Dean's ears perk as he hears the garage door opening, so he ducks back inside and walks up to the moving van as it parks. Sam gets out of the cab, and he smiles when he sees the grin on Dean's face.

"What's with you?"

"Huh? Oh nothing. Just took out the trash." Dean sweeps his hands clean. Sam gives him a look, but Dean just whistles some Metallica as he walks to the back of the truck and opens the door. Sam shakes his head and steps onto the floor, glancing at his phone and wondering why Ruby never called him back.


	9. Shenanigans and Setbacks

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Personal **(continued)

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

**A/N: **Thank you SO MUCH for the reviews! Real life is kinda rough right now, and your kind words have brought me some much needed cheer, so thank you :) And a big mega-thanks to katiki, ster1, and alcorandmizar for all their help with this chapter! You three are too awesome for words!

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Shenanigans and Setbacks**

"He did WHAT?!"

Sam's voice rings out from the bathroom, and Dean checks his watch. 11:03 a.m. _Took her two hours to tattle on me._ He smirks as Sam appears, storming his way over to Dean and looking, well…constipated, to Dean's eyes. _Either he's having toilet trouble or he's feeling too many things at once. Hope it's the second one. _Dean sits up and stretches out his arms.

"So? How's Ruby?" he asks, not even slightly tempted to try and hide what he did. Not when he enjoyed it so much.

"She's been better," Sam seethes. Dean gives a little chuckle, and Sam throws him a look as he throws his hands out to either side. "You think you're funny, Dean? She came here to help you, and you flipped her away like she—"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Dean interrupts. "Let's get one thing clear. I did not flip her, okay?" He grins. "I flicked her, like this." Dean flicks a nearby empty box away, sending it into the far wall of the warehouse. He turns his grin to Sam, who just glares back. "Where'd she end up, anyway?"

"In a Taco Bell dumpster in the next town."

Dean bursts into laughter, pumping his fist in a 'yes!' as he rolls onto his back. The building starts to shake with his guffaws, so he bites his lip and tries to calm down. Then he sees Sam's very serious face and laughs some more.

"It isn't funny, Dean," Sam insists.

"Oh come on!" Dean giggles, grinning madly. "That was the perfect shot to end all perfect shots!" He pictures it in his mind and he's laughing again. The laughter swiftly turns to coughing, and Dean leans forward, pounding at his chest as he gasps for air. Sam comes a bit closer but says nothing as Dean finally takes a deep, clear breath. "'Scuse me," Dean croaks as he wipes tears from his eyes.

"Well I hope you're happy," Sam tells him. "Ruby says she'll never help you again."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"You just flicked away our best chance at keeping you alive, Dean!" Sam yells.

"Bullshit," Dean declares. "One, she couldn't help me." Sam protests at once, and Dean cuts him off. "Save it. If a person can help you, it's the first thing they'll say. They don't use words like 'might' and 'possibly,' like Ruby did. And that's only when she wasn't going on and on about how awesome she is." Dean rolls his eyes. "And two," Dean leans down so he's closer to Sam and speaks in a quieter voice, "even if she could help me, I don't want her kind of help. You know that, Sam."

"You should've at least heard her out," Sam argues, voice just as quiet as Dean's.

Dean holds Sam's angry stare and responds, "There's nothing she could say that I'd ever want to hear." Point made, he stands up and walks over to the food stock by the break room. "We don't need her," he calls as he rummages for a snack. "Owen and Bobby are on the case, and you're doing your research-fu here. I've already got the best help I could ever hope for." He smiles at his little brother, hoping to get him to smile back. It doesn't work. "You'll fix this, Sammy," Dean assures him. "I know you will."

Sam doesn't say a word. Dean grabs about 20 boxes and brings them over to the sleeping area, careful to avoid Sam as he sets them down. Dean sits and lays back, the tied-together mattresses that used to be his bed now a gestalt pillow between him and the wall. Then he picks up Sam's tiny laptop and puts it on his chest. Dean doesn't say a word, just waits, big green eyes on the small TV above him.

With a sigh, Sam walks forward and crawls up Dean's arm and onto his chest. He's been using Dean as a workspace most of the morning; it was better than having his 30-foot brother hovering over him while he tried to work. Plus, with the steady beat of Dean's heart underneath him, Sam can keep an eye on how Dean's doing without actually looking at him. At the moment, his heart sounds and feels fine, but he's taking slow breaths. _Probably trying not to wheeze, _Sam thinks, recalling the coughing fit from a minute ago. His concern rushes up, tinged with frustration, and he has to fight the urge to pound his fist against Dean's rib.

_Dammit, Dean, why'd you have to do that to Ruby? _It isn't outrage for Ruby herself (though he does feel slightly bad for her; falling into a dumpster is no way for anyone to start the day). What he's really mad at is the lost chance at help. _Why couldn't she have come just five minutes later? Then I could've made Dean listen, heard what she had to say. And yeah, fine, so Dean has a point: if she could've helped, she would've said something—if not to him, then to me at least. But now we'll never know for sure. And I'm finding a great bucket of nothing on the 'net, and who knows if Bobby and Owen will actually be able to make that anti-venom, much less if it'll work—_

"Damn, Sammy, what did the keyboard ever do to you?" Dean murmurs. Sam glances over his shoulder, and Dean gives a small nod to the laptop. "You trying to type or stab your laptop?"

"Sorry," Sam mumbles, just for the sake of saying something. _You're so doing sit-ups at noon, _he thinks at Dean. Sam's been making sure that Dean does his light exercises every hour, and Dean has done them without question or complaint. Sam can tell they're hard on his brother, though he has noticed improvement with each session. Dean doesn't bitch about it at all, just does his push-ups, then comes back over here for some TV and a snack—always a snack. It's not even lunch time, and Dean's already consumed half the remaining food supply. Sam knows Dean is trying to ration himself, but he can't ever satisfy the hunger, mainly because he's just too big for what little they have. He watches Dean empty a shipping box of chips—that's 12 bags—into his palm, and all those chips barely make a single handful. He stuffs it into his mouth without comment, and Sam pretends not to notice. _There isn't a problem if we don't discuss it, _Sam thinks, a little bitter. _It's the Winchester Way._

He grabs a few chips off of Dean's next handful and checks his watch. 11:07. Sam enters a new search into Google and gets back to work. _I'm going to find something, _he informs God, karma, fate, the Universe—whoever is listening. _I HAVE to. _

And the hours pass by. Dean does his exercise, Sam does his research. The brothers don't talk much—Dean only asks Sam to change the channel every once in a while, since Dean's fingers are far too big for the teeny buttons. Unfortunately for Sam, he comes across a rerun of _Jeopardy! _at 3:30. The episode seems tailor-made for Dean, with categories including Zeppelin lyrics, Latin phraseology, US highways and bi-ways, and even one on werewolf lore—though most of their information is incorrect, as Dean is happy to point out. Now, halfway through the Double Jeopardy round, he's working his way through "Famous Movie Cars." They run a clip of a car chase, and Dean blurts out the answer just a few frames in:

"What is _Bullitt_!"

Sam rubs his eyes and readjusts how he's sitting—again. Dean keeps sitting up a bit more with each answer, turning Sam's once level workspace into an incline. "Believe it or not, Alex Trebek can't hear you," Sam tells him, sounding as tired as he feels. "You don't have to shout every answer."

"Dude, you can't just watch a game show in silence. Half the fun is shouting at the screen—especially when you're on the kind of roll I am." Above them, the on-screen contestant guesses _The French Connection_, and Dean laughs as Alex Trebek shoots her down. "Oh come on, sweetheart, like anyone could mistake McQueen's '68 Mustang for Hackman's '71 LeMans." Dean shakes his head at the very idea. A different contestant answers correctly, and Dean eagerly awaits the next trivia query. Sam starts reading the same paragraph for the 30th time as Alex Trebek's voice hits him from above.

"This type of car helped the Bandit outrun Smokey."

"What is a '77 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am!" Dean yells just seconds before the actual contestant does. Dean claps his hand against his knee, and then spies Sam glaring at him again. Dean grins back. "Hey, I can't help it if I'm rocking the _Jeopardy!_ today. If I was actually there, we'd be up 9 grand!"

"It's a re-run, Dean," Sam replies, sounding annoyed. He skips the paragraph and goes on to the next section of…whatever it is he's reading. He's so tired and distracted, he's forgotten. _This is hopeless, _he thinks as he rubs at his forehead. Alex speaks up again.

"This classic Plymouth Fury is better known—"

"What is Christine!" Dean shouts, sitting up with his proclamation and sending Sam tumbling into his lap. Not that he notices—he's beaming at the TV, waiting for the contestants to chime in. No one does. "Are you kidding me?! That's the easiest question they've asked!" Dean yells at them. "Even Sam knows that one, don't you…Sam…" Dean looks down and finds Sam glaring up at him. "Mind telling me what you're doing on my crotch?" Dean asks, frowning. Sam responds by lifting the remote over his head and turning off the TV. "Hey! I was watching that!" Dean snaps.

"Yes, you were." Sam pulls his laptop out of a fold in Dean's jeans and hops to the floor. He walks to the manager's desk and sets the computer down. His hand rests on top of the chair, but he doesn't pull it out. He just stares at the closed laptop for a few moments. Lifting up that monitor now seems a monumental task.

"Nothing?" Dean guesses. Sam nods.

"Nothing." He turns away from the desk and pulls out his phone. No messages waiting. No answers. No hope.

"You know I'd help if I could," Dean says quietly. Sam looks up at him and offers a small smile.

"I know." Sam turns the show on again and then walks away, heading for the truck. He hits the button for the garage door and announces that he's "Going on a food run" as the door rolls open. "Be back as soon as I can." He hears Dean get up, but Sam doesn't turn around. As he gets to the cab and opens the door, Dean steps into view, peering down at him from the other side of the truck and looking troubled.

"I'm sorry," Dean says. Sam's eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. Dean gestures to the break room. "About the food, the TV, the fact that you're doing all the work and I'm just lying around cos I'm too big to do anything but take up space…" Dean stops rambling and shakes his head. Sam can't believe what he's hearing.

"Dean, it's all right." Sam smiles when Dean looks back. "It is! Come on, man, I don't blame you for any of this, all right? Give yourself a break."

Dean nods but replies quietly, "Maybe you should take your own advice, Sammy."

Sam forces a smile this time. "Do sit-ups next time you exercise."

Dean pouts. "What if I don't feel like sit-ups?"

"What if I bring you back nothing but veggies and rice cakes?"

Dean looks disturbed. Sam smiles and nods. "Sit-ups it is." He gets into the truck and starts it up, but Dean puts his giant boot down in front of the door before Sam can pull out of the garage. Sam rolls down his window and looks up. "Dean, what?"

"You sure you're all right?"

One of Sam's eyebrows shoots up. "Are you?" Dean matches the look but doesn't answer. Sam shakes his head. "Can't get food if you won't let me out the door…" Dean studies him a moment more, then finally moves out of the way. Sam honks twice and waves as he pulls out of the garage. Dean ducks down and watches the truck until it disappears down the road.

"Be safe," Dean says. His thoughts, good and bad and scared, gather in a storm, pulsing for release. _No, _Dean tells the bad weather in his mind. _Not gonna sit here and process all this shit right now_. The storm fires lightning bolts behind his eyes, illuminating the déjà vu of the situation: watching Sam push himself to the brink while trying to find a way to save Dean. It's last year all over again. _Another screw-up for Deano, _his inner voice chides. Dean just pulls the garage door shut and thuds back to the sleeping area to watch Final Jeopardy. The emotional storm is still raging in his mind, so Dean turns the volume up on the TV as Alex walks to the monitors.

"And the Final Jeopardy category is," Alex pauses as the familiar bell tones sound out and the answer comes on screen, "Disasters."

"What is Dean Winchester," he mutters. The show cuts to commercial break, and Dean turns away and starts his sit-ups.

* * *

When Sam has been gone for an hour, Dean chalks it up to buying enough food in bulk to feed a giant. It takes time to gather it all, much less pay for it, bag it, and load it into the truck. Dean munches on the last of the chips as he tries once again to use the mattresses as dominos. An infomercial about vacuum cleaners plays on behind him.

When Sam has been gone for two hours, Dean still doesn't worry too much. It's dinner time now. Rush hour. Yeah it's Sunday, but there's still traffic. He watches the Nightly News as he completes a shorter but wider version of the Comfy Castle, one that Sam won't be able to fall off of, no matter how big Dean gets or how Sam reacts.

When Sam has been gone for three hours, Dean can no longer ignore the feeling that Something Is Wrong. He keeps going out into the tranquility garden and peering over the wall, hoping to spot the moving van approaching the building. It's never there. And once four hours have gone by, Dean goes over the wall and, after making sure absolutely no one is around, walks up the road, scanning for any sign of his brother. But there's nothing.

"Dammit, Sammy…" Dean ducks back into the warehouse and tries to quell his fears (_What if he's hurt What if he's trapped What if some fugly got him What if I've lost him for good),_ but they continue their rampage through head and heart. He goes to the TV and glares at stupid _Dateline NBC_ and its lack of news about Sam.

"Come on, was there pile-up somewhere? Tell me something useful!" Dean lifts his huge finger to the microscopic button on the TV and presses as gently as he can, determined to find the local news feed. He only manages to move the TV itself. Dean grunts but tries again. The TV rocks at his touch, and _Dateline NBC _goes to commercial. Dean tries a third time and the TV falls backward onto the shelf. "DAMMIT!" Dean smacks the TV away, too frustrated to care about its subsequent demolition on the back wall. Looking around for something, ANYthing that might help, his eyes catch on his little duffel and leather jacket, resting on the table just inside the break room.

_Shit, what if he called? _Dean thuds over to the break room, ducks, and grabs his meager belongings. "Please don't be in the bag," he begs, knowing his giant fingers will never be able to grasp that tiny zipper tag. He shakes his leather jacket, and his phone falls out of the inner pocket and into his hand. Jackpot. Dean manages to work a fingernail under his phone's cover, and he flips it open. It promptly breaks off. _Forget about it, just look at the messages. _Dean holds the phone up as close as he can without it blurring, but he can't make out what the screen says. He stands up and brings it up to the warehouse light, but he still can't tell whether he's got a message or not.

"Doesn't matter," he mutters to himself. "You wouldn't be able to press the button to hear the message, anyway."

Dean drops the phone, his hopes falling with it. Can't go anywhere, can't track any leads, can't even call anyone. Dean's never felt more helpless in his life.

And then he hears his name—or thinks he does. His heart leaps up as he holds his breath and listens.

"…Dean?"

It's weak, but it's there. Dean is through the hole and up to the garden wall in seconds. He looks out and sees Sam. His little brother is walking up to the warehouse. _He's alive! _Dean rejoices, laughing in relief. Sam looks up at him and smiles.

"Sorry I'm…took so…here?" Sam frowns at his attempt at a sentence. "That was…huh." Then he collapses onto the pavement.

"Sammy?!" Dean climbs over the wall and gently scoops his brother up. Sam is ice cold, yet he's sweating through his clothes. He mumbles Dean's name as Dean holds him close to his chest. "Easy, I've gotcha." Dean carries him back inside and sets him down on the new Comfy Castle. Keeping one hand on Sam's back to support him, Dean kneels down and looks him over. "What happened?"

"Accident," Sam answers, looking all around like he's never seen the warehouse before.

"Accident?" Dean repeats, his mind already playing awful scenarios of Sam hitting the windshield, Sam getting thrown from the truck, Sam nearly getting run over. He looks all over Sam's body but doesn't see any cuts. "Are you hurt, Sam?" Sam shakes his head in vigorous 'no's, looking like a little boy as his long hair flaps this way and that. Dean frowns and moves so his face is right in front of Sam. "Hey, look at me." Sam does, and his face falls into confusion.

"But…you're still big," Sam states. "You'll never fit in the car like that." Dean's frown grows deeper, more alarmed. Then Sam smacks his forehead and mutters "focus, focus" before he looks back. "I was gonna get her for you," Sam continues, speaking slowly. "Surprise you. Happy Sunday. But I never got there." He peers up at Dean, not noticing the emotion all over his big brother's face. "I'll get her tomorrow, okay?"

Dean just stares. "What happened out there? Where's the truck?"

"It's in a ditch…" Sam waggles his entire arm in an 'over there' gesture. "Wheel popped off." He makes a little Pop! with his lips and giggles. "And then the truck rolled over a few times. I got out once it stopped…" he twirls his fingers around, "spin-in-nin-ning." Dean looks horrified, and Sam smiles at him. "M'okay, Dean," he says as he pats his little hand against Dean's knuckle. "But the truck's not. I think the contents shifted." Sam giggles again, his head lolling back over Dean's fingers. He starts to sway back and forth.

"Sam…" Dean puts his big hands on either side of his brother and gently holds him still. Sam's eyes are all over the place, not focusing on anything. Dean knows he's losing him. "I need you to think back for me. Did you hit your head while the truck was rolling?"

Sam's face goes blank, making him look lost, and his head tilts up toward the ceiling. "Don't…remember. Maybe…" He shakes his head. "Dizzy…noise…"

"Was anyone else there, Sam? Another driver, police…"

"No, just me…me and the truck. It stayed there…" His head drops back down. "I walked here. Had to bring…medicine."

"Medicine?"

Sam reaches into his jacket and pulls out a bottle of aspirin. "…for your…head..." Sam's eyes squint shut, and he puts a hand to his forehead. "Worried…you…in pain…"

"I don't think it's my head you should be worried about right now," Dean jokes, though his voice relays his fear. Sam tries to speak again, but tears slide down his cheeks instead. He drops the aspirin bottle and pounds at his forehead. "Hey," Dean soothes, scared out of his mind as he carefully pulls the small fist away. "What's the matter?" Sam falls lax and crumples against Dean's hand. "SAM?" Dean gives Sam the tiniest shake, but he doesn't stir. Dean lies him down flat and covers Sam's chest with his ear. The little heart is pounding, and his breaths are fast and shallow.

"You're in shock. SHIT." Dean pulls away and gapes at the pale skin and sunken eyes. His body is so cold…so little and fragile and cold. Dean scoops Sam up again and wraps him up in his blue shirt. Holding him close, Dean lies back against his pillow of mattresses and cradles his suffering brother in his right arm, propping the little legs up against his wrist. Then he brings his left hand up and covers Sam in an extra blanket of warmth.

_Should've been there, _Dean chastises himself. _Shouldn't have let him go. Should've checked the truck…dammit, Dean, this didn't have to happen. You LET it happen, and now look at him! He probably got a concussion in the crash, and you can't even take him to the hospital. What if he dies right here in your stupid big hands?!_

"…Dean…" Sam murmurs. Dean looks down as Sam's eyelids flutter open for a moment. "DEAN…" he says more strongly, like he wants to yell. Like he knows what Dean is thinking. Little hazel eyes stare up at him for a moment before his face turns them away, the small body dropping into a deep sleep. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, trapping the welling tears against his eyelashes.

"I've gotcha, Sammy," he whispers, keeping as still as possible as Sam shivers against him. "Get some shut-eye. I've gotcha."

They stay like that for a very long time, Sam suffering, Dean worrying. Sam's body gradually warms up, but Dean doesn't let him go. He just can't. His own back starts to ache from being kept in this position for so long, but Dean won't move. His body and brain beg for rest, but Dean won't sleep. _Not until Sam is all right, _he tells them all. _You know the drill. _That shuts them up. After a while, only Sam's peaceful breaths can be heard in the warehouse. Dean focuses on them, trying to soothe his own troubled mind and constantly aching head. It doesn't really work. Neither does repeat reminders that wheel would have popped off whether or not he'd been there with Sam, or if he'd been his normal size at the time. He just has to look down at his stricken brother, and the blame coats him in another unforgiving layer.

Hours go by like this. Sam sleeping, sometimes moaning in pain, sometimes trying to roll over. Dean keeps him still, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Sam's hair to coax him back into slumber. Around ten that night, Sam actually slings an arm over that thumb, trapping it next to his face and shoulder and leaning on it. Dean smirks. "You know I'm not the cuddling type, Sammy," he whispers (though he lets Sam 'keep' his thumb). Dean rests his head back and heaves a weary sigh. "I hate this," he confesses, still whispering. "You might be really hurt, and I can't do a damn thing about it." He looks at his free hand and makes it into a fist. "I'm strong enough to punch a hole in this wall behind me, but I can't make one phone call and get Bobby or Owen over here to help you. How screwed up is that?"

Dean looks down at Sam, who sleeps on, oblivious to his brother's fears and frustrations. "Haven't felt this helpless since I was downstairs, know that?" Dean confides, nodding at his own question. "'S true. Wasn't just what they did to me or what I—"

He cuts himself off with a swallow, unwilling to take any chances of Sam ever finding out the whole story, and starts again. "No, the worst part…the absolute low…was not knowing how you were." He grits his teeth and bares a fierce smile as he thinks back on it. "They'd talk about you all the time. Tell me you were hurt…alone…screaming for me. Other times they'd say you were dead, that you were down there in Hell with me." Dean pauses the moment his voice trembles. "If they were in a really good mood, they'd disguise themselves as you. Tell me…I deserved everything I was getting, and more, cos I failed you. Cos I was nothing. Hate to say it, Sammy, but some days it was pretty convincing." Dean smirks, bitter as he thinks about it, and shakes his head again. "Did my best not to let them in, but it wasn't easy. Couldn't tell them to go to Hell…kinda gets you a big 'duh' thrown in your face, y'know? But I couldn't fight back…too many chains and too many of them. So I just kept tellin' them to go fuck themselves." He gives a small laugh. "My big fuckin' mouth, my only weapon." His smile wans as he looks away. "Turns out…wasn't enough."

Sam turns to his side and hugs Dean's thumb even closer. Dean brushes an escaped tear off his cheek with his shoulder and gives a genuine smile at his little brother. "Just trying to say that being helpless sucks out loud, no matter where you go or what size you are," he laughs quietly. "So be glad you're you. Hope your beauty sleep helps, cos I want regular Sammy to wake up, not the 'Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs' version. You might have to drive yourself to the doctor." His anger flares up again as he remembers the broken truck. He pictures finding the damn thing and kicking it up and down the road. _Stupid truck, _he hisses in his mind. _Accident never would've happened if Sam would've been in the Impala…_

Dean pictures his baby. His perfect, gorgeous, safe, reliable, sweet ride, the one he rebuilt with his own hands. The one that has never failed to protect her boys. Dean looks down at little Sam, then at the garage door.

And all at once, Dean knows there's something he has to do.

Carefully, he unrolls Sam from his blue shirt and sets him down on the new Comfy Castle. Sam snuggles up against the pillow Dean made out of mattress fluff and a jumpsuit. Next he brings up the blanket he made out of the same materials (though with less fluff and more jumpsuits) and drapes it over his sleeping brother. Dean smiles at him, glad that Sam is doing much better.

_Stay just like that, Sammy, _he thinks at him. _I'll be back before you even know I'm gone._

Dean crawls toward the tranquility garden, making sure each footstep and hand pat lands without a sound, and once he's outside, he goes over the wall and takes smalls steps until he's at the end of the road. He looks up and down the crossing road, thankful that it's a Sunday night in an industrial area, and the streets are empty. _Okay, _he thinks, muscles tense and ready to go. The mental map he prepared when he was first brought to the warehouse unrolls in his mind, and he puts the directions in reverse. _Do this, get her, get back. GO._

Dean thud-runs to a billboard and ducks behind it. He checks that the coast is clear, then thuds up the street to his first turn, crouching behind a convenience store as a car drives by. Dean stands back up the moment it's gone and runs off.

_Good, _he encourages himself. _Keep going. Don't take any stupid risks. Don't stop for…anything…_ His nose locks on to an intoxicating scent: burgers. Fresh, juicy, sizzling burgers. Dean's heading up the street to the burger joint before he even realizes what he's doing. He jumps behind the post office building, and the smell hits him again. So wonderful. So close! His stomach growls, reminding him that he hasn't eaten in hours. Dean looks around the front of the post office and at the burger joint. The back door is open to the kitchen.

_You can't, Dean, _he tells himself, moving back behind the building. His stomach begs to differ, wanting the food so badly that he starts to feel faint. While his mind fights for a decision, his body takes the initiative to move forward. Food. Burgers. Maybe even cheeseburgers if he's lucky. Right there and calling for him and—

_Oh shit, civilians. _

Two teens in fast food uniforms stare up at Dean as he stares down at them. At least, Dean thinks they're staring; the cloud of pot smoke around their heads is obscuring their eyes. A very awkward moment passes between the giant and the stoned teens. Dean's surprised a damn tumbleweed doesn't blow by.

Then one of the teens grunts out a laugh. The other teen soon joins in, sounding to Dean like Ernie from _Sesame Street, _a "heesheesheesh" giggle through his teeth. "Primo goods, man," Ernie says, and Bert, as Dean has decided to call him, smiles proudly. Then Bert holds up his joint as high as he can, waggling it like a tiny, herbal treat for Dean. Dean smirks and shakes his head.

"Nah, I'm good, guys. Just got a bad case of the munchies."

"Dude, Jolly Green's got the munchies!" Bert laughs. "Awesome."

"You like burgers?" Ernie asks Dean. "Or do you just, like, eat carrots and shit?"

Dean quickly swaps his 'what the hell?' look for his charming smile. "Only when I'm at work," he answers smoothly. "Got the night off. No stupid green make-up, no Conan the Vegetarian leotard." Bert and Ernie laugh again, Bert repeating the 'Conan the Vegetarian' joke as he nods and smokes.

Ernie points to the drive-thru window. "Come on, man. We're heading into Munchies Country, too. Toss a few extra burgers on the grill for ya."

"Dude, he's HUGE," Bert proclaims. "He needs, like, 30 burgers!"

"30 burgers," Dean repeats, dreamy. The teens laugh some more as they disappear back inside. Dean ducks down by the window, unable to believe his luck. _No way is it THIS easy… _He spots a security camera just as Bert comes up to the window.

"It's off," Bert grins. "Break time means alone time, y'know?" Dean's stomach growls in reply, and Bert is laughing again. "Don't chow down on me. Real food's comin'." He goes back to the kitchen, and Dean overhears him telling Ernie what a "serious case of munchitude" Dean has.

_Less talky, more food bringy, _Dean thinks, as impatient as he is hungry. He looks around constantly, waiting for cars or late-night strollers to pass by, but no one comes. Bert and Ernie soon return, and they tell Dean to hold out his hands.

"30 heart attacks," Bert announces, displaying a tray with a mountain of thick burgers topped with the works. Dean slurps down his drool before it drips down his chin. The teens stack the food in his palms, and the instant they pull their hands away, he stuffs the juicy goodness into his mouth. As Dean chews, relishing that wonderful bite, Ernie's jaw drops.

"Djoo see that?! He just downed all those burgers like they were nothin'!" Dean's stomach grumbles again. "And he's still hungry!" Ernie shouts, grinning.

"How many you think he can eat?" Bert asks. They both run back to the kitchen and get grilling. They bring another batch to Dean, then another, and the wonderful rotation continues until Dean has eaten every last burger in the place. Dean leans back against the building and sighs, content and finally, FINALLY full. The boys come back out for another smoke, and Dean gives them his broadest smile.

"Thank you," he breathes—then burps. Then smiles once more. Bert offers him his joint again.

"After-dinner herbage?"

Dean waves it off. "Should've ordered an extra-extra-extra-large strawberry shake…" Ernie starts to head back in, but Dean tells him to wait. "I was kidding. Sort of." Then something occurs to him. "Hey, you don't have any bottled water, do ya?" Ernie rushes in and brings a bottle out to him, and Dean sticks it in his pocket, not offering any explanation. Then he looks at his watch and sees that he's been gone 30 minutes already. _20 minutes too long. Shit. _

Dean looks down and sees Ernie jumping up and waving his hands to get his attention. "Dude, you leavin' us?" he calls.

"Yeah, gotta go. Thanks for the whole Cheech and Chong Do Good Burger Show. Oh!" He gets his wallet out. "Payment." Crouching down, he hands them each a quarter. The coins are bigger than their heads. "Yeah? Awesome, right?" Dean grins like a game show host, nodding as the stoners exchange 'woah's. "World's biggest quarters. Nice and shiny, too." The teens drop their joints as they behold the shine. Neither of them notices the giant walk off, too lost in their prizes.

Feeling much better now his stomach is filled with a restaurant's worth of burgers, Dean lumbers off toward the motel, ducking and hiding behind other big things as often as he has to along the way. He only gets spotted by two more people—well, one person and one dog—but they won't talk. He scared them too much, even after making the effort to be extra friendly and not Scary Giant Man Thing.

"Guess small talk is a lost art form," he mumbles as he thinks back on it. But then he shifts the weight in his arms and smiles. "Least we're together again, baby. God I've missed you. You won't believe what I've been through since the last time you saw me." He looks down at her. "No, really. You won't believe me." He frowns at a voice only he can hear. "Because I know you better than I know myself, that's why!" He rolls his eyes during the next bout of 'silence.' "You're just cranky cos I woke you up. Now keep your voice down. Last thing I need is Sammy waking up and hearing both of you squawking at me."

Their mattress sanctuary comes into view, and Dean lets himself relax. "Yes, I promise I'll tell you everything in the morning," he whispers. Then he carefully climbs back over the wall and ducks into the warehouse. Dean sets the car down on the floor before he crawls back over to the new Comfy Castle. Sam is still sound asleep. Dean smiles and pulls the little blanket up a bit higher.

_Shitty start to the night, _he thinks. _But at least it'll end on a good note. That's something._

Little does he know that someone else is thinking the same thing: a man in a van parked back near the motel. He's been watching a blip on his monitor—a signal from the tracking device he'd attached under the Impala. The moment the blip stops moving, the man places a call over a secure line.

"Target located. Send recovery unit to the following coordinates…"

* * *

Sam wakes up to a killer headache, a new, comfy bed, and a bottle of water next to his head. He grabs the water and guzzles it, happily letting small streams dribble down the sides of his mouth as he quenches his thirst. Even his headache lightens up a little at the refreshment. Wiping his mouth on his arm, he looks down at what he's resting upon. _Rebuilt Comfy Castle…_ It's twice as roomy as the old one. _Now wider and lower, in case I fall off again. Someone was busy…_ Smiling, he looks back at where Dean should be lying. But he isn't there. Sam promptly looks the other way—and nearly jumps off the bed. Dean is RIGHT THERE, his peaceful, slumbering face resting next to the bed, lying on his side but still towering over his little brother. He's got an arm around the Impala, clutching it like—

The _IMPALA?!_

Sam stands up for a better look. Sure enough, all 18 feet of the classic Chevy rests against Dean's chest and under his chin, coddled like a teddy bear. _You got the car, _Sam thinks, as astonished as he is upset. _That means you went outside. That means you went through TOWN, got the car, brought it BACK through town… _Livid, Sam walks to the edge of the bed, ready to kick his giant brother in the nose until he breaks it. _Any number of witnesses probably saw you, calling the police while hiding under the table after you passed by their window... Shit, and security cameras, and drivers… _Sam decides to add a few punches to one of the huge eyes as well_. I can't believe you'd take such a stupid risk! WHY, Dean? How could you POSSIBLY…think that…this…_

His thoughts trail off as his eye focuses on something glistening in the low light of morning. _Is that…drool…on the hood?_ Sam's lips curl into a smirk as he confirms it, and he gets his camera out to get in some blackmail photos. _Pictures first. THEN I'll yell at him. _He centers Dean and his teddy-bear car and the sticky pool of drool on his phone's screen and takes the shot. Then he looks at the results. The car shows up fine, but Dean looks more like vapor instead of a person: just a vague form without a face or any discernable features. Sam tries a second time. Again, the car is fine, but Dean still comes out all watery and foggy. Sam takes a close look at his phone, but it doesn't seem to have anything wrong with it.

_All right, third time's the charm…_ He holds it up again and takes his shot. Car is there, bed is there, Dean is vapor again, and now there's a guy in black SWAT-wannabe gear, hanging from a cord just above Dean's head. Sam does a double take. _Wait, WHAT?_

Someone grabs Sam from behind and throws him on his back. Above him, twenty more men are rappelling down from the ceiling. Sam scrambles to get back up, but lightning strikes him in the side, and he falls into seizures on the mattress. A man in a face shield mask waves the taser in Sam's field of vision. Behind them, Sam hears the garage door open, and on the other side of the warehouse, he hears the glass from the showroom windows breaking.

"Dean…" Sam croaks, only to get shocked again. He hears someone yell, "Secure the monster!" just as the world goes black…


	10. The Great Escape Attempt

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal **(continued)

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

**A/N: **Thanks again for all the reviews! This chapter turned out a lot longer than I expected, but it's got a lot of action, so I didn't want to stop ;) Big giant mega thanks to Katiki for her awesome beta-fu! Also, Muckers was awesome enough to make some really terrific manips for this story! Click on my profile to see them.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: The Great Escape…Attempt**

Dean has had his share of rude awakenings; it's gotten to the point that he never knows what to expect when he wakes up. So when an itch on his nose draws him out of his sleep, and he bring his hand up to scratch it—only to find that he can't move his arm—his heart jumps. _Great, what now…_ He tries his other hand. It won't move either. Something's holding it down. His heart thumps into a panic, pounding with his runaway thoughts:

_I'm back I'm in Hell they got me again Oh FUCK I'm back_

Dean pulls his hands into fists before they can start to shake.

_NO. Idiot. Focus. You're not in Hell again. Just open your eyes and prove it._

His eyes stay shut.

_Open them, Winchester!_

The big greens blink open, not to hellfire and demons, but to a semi-automatic pointed right at his nose. Dean grunts out a throaty chuckle. The man, dressed all in black and sporting a ribbed, puffy protection vest he must've stolen from an umpire, fumbles his gun at the sound, but doesn't drop it. In seconds it is re-aimed and re-armed. Dean cocks an eyebrow as he smirks.

"What're you gonna do, G.I. Joe, shoot me between the eyes with your little BB gun?"

"No," says a voice somewhere to Dean's left, "we're going to do this."

PAIN shoots into Dean's side, electric and hot, like he's just been stabbed by a lightning bolt. Dean cries out so loud that the little man on his chest drops his gun so he can cover his ears. The pain stops, and Dean glares all around as he breathes through his teeth. He's surrounded by about 30 other men in black, each with their guns on him. One of the men moves back up to Dean's side and lifts up a strange weapon. It resembles a bazooka, only with a long, sword-shaped extension instead of a front hole. He jabs it into Dean's side, and the pain is back. "FUCK…arrgh!" Dean tries to lift his arm up so he can smack the man away, but it won't move. That's when he notices he's got cables crisscrossing his body, effectively binding him to the floor.

"Oh you've gotta be kidding me." He struggles to free his arms, but they won't budge. Neither will his legs, his feet, or his torso. _I'm trapped._ His breathing grows ragged. _I'm trapped—I can't be trapped again! _The cables are so tight across his chest that they dig into him.

"I wouldn't waste my time if I were you," says that same voice. Dean looks to his left and sees a man in a black suit and douchebag sunglasses. "The cables are three times as strong as those used on suspension bridges. You'll only give yourself rope burn."

Dean squirms anyway, searching for even the tiniest give in his bindings, but they seem just as adamant to hold him down as he is to free himself. Only his head is able to move around, and even that is encumbered by a cable right under his chin, its choking hold pressing against his Adam's apple. _Don't close your eyes, _Dean orders himself, trying to keep what little grip he's got on his emotions. _You're not on the rack. You're not in Hell. _He swallows, and the cable against his throat crunches into him. _Not in Hell, _he tells himself again. _Not the neck clamp, not the rack. Not in Hell. NOT in—_

"What's your name, giant?"

Dean is brought back to reality by the question. He slips behind his well-practiced mask and looks down at the man in black. "It sure as hell ain't Gulliver," Dean's voice booms in reply. "Who are you people supposed to be, huh? The Lilliput SWAT team?"

"Who we are is a matter of national security. Now tell me your name."

Dean gives him his best smirk. "I don't think so. Call it a matter of…personal security."

The man smiles back for a moment before he turns and lifts his hand in a hail. Two soldiers march up next to him, dragging a man between them. Dean recognizes him even before the victim is thrown against the giant's side, his little face smashing into one of the cables. Sam falls to his knees and drops to the side, awake but wincing. Dean glowers down at the asshole in the suit.

"What did you do to him." A threat more than a question, one that goes unanswered. Sam attempts to get up but wobbles back to the ground. Dean wrestles with his restraints, clenching his jaw as he tries to pull his hand free and help Sam stand up. The whole building starts to shake, and the little guy with the modified bazooka approaches once again. Sam sees him the same time Dean does, and Sam gets up and moves between his brother and the soldier.

"No wait…don't…" Sam holds his hands out and up, though his upper body leans forward, still in apparent pain. "Please…" He looks back at Dean. "I'm fine. See? They just…suck at conversation."

"Throw punches first, ask questions later," Dean gathers. Sam nods as he puts his hands on his knees, swallowing air through his mouth.

"Your friend here wasn't very forthcoming," says Suit Guy. "Right now I'm trying to decide if he's protecting you…" He looks at Sam as he straightens, then back up at Dean. "Or if he's your hostage."

Dean smirks again. "That's funny, cos I'm trying to decide if you guys are legit, or just action figures with plastic guns." The man with the modified bazooka has wandered a little too close to Dean's left hand, and in an easy move, the giant fingers snatch it away and crush it in his palm. A crumpled metal ball drops to the ground.

"Guess you should've tied his hands down, too," Sam tells the soldier, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"Yeah, that's a rookie mistake," Dean adds. "'Fraid we're gonna have to bench you the rest of the game." Suit Guy snaps a command at the soldier, who walks off. Sam peers up at Dean, and both brothers share quick looks of "You okay? I'm okay." Behind Sam, a small group of men approach, carrying Dean's duffel, Sam's backpack and laptop, and both their jackets. They set the gear down next to Suit Guy.

"We've checked everywhere, sir," one of the men says. "No sign of the formula or the accelerant anywhere."

"The computer?"

"Can't get in. The hard drive is locked with an unknown scrambler."

Sam smiles smugly at no one in particular. Even Dean looks impressed by that information.

"What about the car?" Suit Guy asks.

Dean's eyes wander over to the Impala, resting a short distance away from where Sam's now dismantled Comfy Castle lies in shredded ruins. "Large weapons stock in the trunk, several cell phones and a box of fake I.D.s in the glove compartment."

"Also found this." Another man hands Suit Guy John Winchester's journal. "We found no information on the formula in there, either."

Suit Guy takes off his sunglasses as he starts to flip through the journal. Sam and Dean share looks again, both wanting to tear the invaluable journal away from him but knowing they can't make a move without risking it and themselves. All they can do is watch and hope that the man doesn't find the information interesting.

"Most interesting," the man says. Both brothers think a _dammit!_ as page after page gets turned and looked over. "Reapers…ghosts…" He skips a couple pages ahead and smiles. "Shapeshifters." Closing the book, he hands it to Sam, who accepts it with surprise. The man keeps his slimy smile on his face as he announces, "We've got a pair of hunters in our midst."

Both Winchesters keep their poker faces on as Suit Guy looks them over. "We've crossed paths with your kind before," he informs them. "It's good to know there are others out there, fighting the same good fight we are. Even if it is with primitive techniques…"

Dean smirks again, eyes flashing at the insult. "Sometimes all you need to take down the bad guy is your own fist." He twists his arm in his bindings and thumps his fist on the ground, knocking everyone off balance and onto the floor. "Primitive? Maybe. But it works."

Suit Guy gets up first. "True," he says, dusting himself off, "but it's often a very bloody affair." He nods to Dean's now cut-up wrist, cables and skin stained with blood and the pattern of curved slices and burns. "I know your type," Suit Guy tells Dean, "the cocky attitude and tough bravado. Smart when you need to be, stupid enough to take risks."

"Not to mention incredibly good looking," Dean adds. "And I know your type as well. Corporate Dick, hired by some shady Area 51 types to handle the business side of whatever they're up to." He looks them all over. "National security my ass. No way the government's interested in the supernatural."

"Who said anything about government?" Suit Guy smiles as the giant's eyes fall back on him. "We're here because you brought us here. And the only thing we are interested in is you."

"I'm not a thing." Dean says it more quietly than he had intended—his thoughts are too occupied with the first part of what Suit Guy said. _Did I bring them here? No…no one saw me. Just that guy and his dog. He would've called the police if anybody, not Team America here… _The reassurance doesn't help, and the worry that he brought this hurt on himself and on Sam starts to add to the panic attack he's been fighting all this time. _Calm down…he's bluffing. He's a dick! What the hell does he know, right? _The cable over his throat cuts into him again as he tries to swallow, and he lifts his eyebrows to keep his eyelids from shutting. Suit Guy walks up right next to him, studying Dean like a specimen.

"Hunters don't usually come in such large packages," Suit Guy comments.

"Or with them," Dean replies, smiling to hide his inner turmoil.

"Which means you must have grown into your current stature. Care to share your secret?"

"I drank a lot of milk."

Suit Guy sighs. "We have ways of making you talk."

"Well listen up, Schultz—I know nothing. Nothing! All right?" Dean's body squirms to free itself again, cables cutting into him all over.

"If you think you're uncomfortable now, just wait," Suit Guy tells Dean. "It won't compare with what's waiting for you at HQ."

Dean groans. "Aw, don't go breaking my heart…"

Sam's ears perk at those words. The title of the old Elton John/Kiki Dee song—one that Dean despises—doubles as an old code of theirs. It means 'get to the car—no questions asked.' Sam takes a glance over his shoulder. The Impala is unguarded. Sam himself seems to be forgotten as well: all the soldiers are surrounding Dean, guns aimed at different areas of his giant body. Sam glances back at his brother. Dean's eyes are closed, and his face is covered in sweat. He noticed Dean trembling earlier, but he assumed it was from that weapon that shocked him.

_What if it wasn't? _Sam wonders now. _What if it was like before, back in the U-Haul…_Sam swallows hard. _Oh shit._

Dean's big eyes crack open and look right at Sam a moment, just long enough for Sam to see that Dean is freaked. Suit Guy is talking to Dean again, demanding answers, but Dean doesn't say or do anything except shake his head back and forth. "Dean?" Sam asks without thinking. Dean doesn't reply, just clenches his teeth together and squeezes his eyes shut.

And that's when the earthquake starts.

The building shakes as the ground rumbles, with Dean as the epicenter. Mattress stacks tumble to the floor as the shelving vibrates. The hole leading to the tranquility garden caves in, bringing down more of the wall with it. Even the Impala and the forklifts shudder and slide. "Get out," Dean moans above it all. Sam joins every soldier in looking up at Dean. The cables holding him down are now strained to their limits. The fingers grapple for release…and elongate, bringing the palms out with them. His boots are next, casting the soldiers in front of them in lengthening shadows. "Get…OUT!" Dean shouts, pained and desperate, "before…I bring…the place down…aaah! Growing…MOVE…"

There's a low, stretching sound…then a sharp snap. One of the cables over Dean's right shoulder breaks and whips away, slicing through a forklift like a hand through water. As the two halves crash to either side, a cable by Dean's left foot snaps, sweeping five soldiers straight through a wall.

"All right, everybody out!" calls one of the soldiers, and everyone finally starts to run away. Suit Guy yells at them to stay put, but he's wholly ignored and is forced to follow the retreating men. Only Sam runs over to Dean, ducking around falling chunks of ceiling.

"Dean!" he calls over the din. "What's happening?"

"What's it look like!" Dean cries back, face flushed against otherwise ghostly white skin. His muscles bulge against his remaining restraints, body growing everywhere as blood oozes out from underneath his clothes and cables. Sam can only guess how much pain his brother is in. It doesn't help when Dean opens a bloodshot eye and glares down at him.

"I told you to get to the car!"

Sam shakes his head. "Yeah, but—"

"Yeah but nothing!"

Another cable snaps, freeing Dean's upper left arm, and he sweeps Sam up to his side milliseconds before the end of the cable lashes into the place where Sam was just standing. Dean then gently pushes the trembling form away from him. "Get out of here before you get yourself killed!"

"No, Dean! I'm not leaving you to die!"

Dean rolls his eyes and slides Sam away along the floor. "Dammit, Dean—stop it!" Sam yells, struggling to get up, but Dean just keeps pushing until Sam is right by the Impala. Behind him, more cables snap, smashing and cutting through everything in their wake. The wall that connects the front of the warehouse to the back of the showroom crumbles, and the roof begins to fail. Sam finally gets up, grabs his laptop and their bags and jackets, tosses them in the back seat, and gets in the car—only to see that the garage door is still shut. He opens the door to get out and open it when SMASH!—the heel of Dean's boot kicks through it. Sam hears another "GO!" shouted out, and Sam floors the accelerator. The military force is gone; Sam doesn't really care where they went. He drives out to the empty lot across the street and stops the car, nearly forgetting to put the vehicle in park in his rush to get out and look back. The remaining walls collapse inward, and the roof breaks apart and crashes down. The air fills with concrete dust and mattress 'pollen,' obscuring the view.

All falls quiet. Sam strains to see or hear anything, but is only rewarded with a faint clatter of building fragments crumbling into gravel. The wind blows the dirty air toward Sam, and he coughs and shields his eyes. When it passes, Sam finds himself on the moon. Grey dust covers everything: the ground, the road, the street light, the storage locker facility kitty corner from where the warehouse used to be.

The warehouse…

"Dean."

Sam stumbles forward, trying to spot any sign of his brother in that huge pile of rubble. He sees a few mattresses and even the fridge from the break room, but not one part of Dean. _Come on, how can a giant hide…_ he wonders, scanning the grey for Dean's blue shirt or his jeans. He can't find either. _Maybe he didn't grow? Maybe he's back to normal! _Sam's joy is quickly swallowed by his fear. _If he's normal again, he's either been crushed or is buried alive in there._ He shakes his head. _No, you saw him growing—he grew, he's fine…has to be. _A shudder runs down his spine. _Unless his heart gave out or the stress on his body was just too great this time…_

_**BOOM**_

It's a different kind of vibration this time, coming from the side and front of Sam rather than up from the ground. His hopes rise with his gaze. "Dean?" Sam listens for a response, but doesn't get any. He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, "DEAN! Are you in there? Can you hear—"

_**BOOM**_

A giant fist smashes straight up through the rubble, dwarfing everything around it. Sam backs up as a huge boot kicks out to his left, sending rafters and mattresses flying out into the fields beyond. A muffled "Arrrrrgh!" bellows from inside the ruins, and tons of concrete fly skyward as an enormous form sits up. Sam ducks and runs as the debris starts to fall, only to get swept up by something soft after just a few steps. His orientation is thrown off as everything goes dark; he feels like he's standing up, even though he's rolled into a ball. He hears things thudding down around him, but he can't see anything. Then, just as suddenly, light pours over him, and he rolls onto his back. Sam stares up at Dean's face—kind, worried, and bigger than ever.

"Still with me Sammy?" Dean asks him. Sam attempts to stand up, but he's dizzy from whatever just happened. Dean's face darkens and comes closer. "Oh shit, did I hurt you when I picked you up?!"

"No…I'm fine, Dean, honest." Sam stands up on wobbly legs and sees that he's in the middle of Dean's palm. The last time this happened, Sam's long legs dangled off the side of Dean's hand. Now he's only about four, maybe five inches high in comparison to his giant brother. He tries not to look shocked. He also tries not to stare at the fingers that are as big as he is. He fails at both.

"Just more of me to love," Dean quips sadly as he looks away from Sam's reaction. Then Dean's eyes bug out. Sam turns to see whatever it is Dean's spotted, but before he so much as moves his head, he finds himself surrounded by blue cotton. Dean has dropped him into his shirt pocket. The pocket is taller than Sam is, so he has to jump up to grab at the opening, and his little head pops out from underneath the pocket flap.

"What the hell, Dean?"

"Just stay down," Dean orders from above. He takes a step forward, clearing the distance between the warehouse remains and the Impala in less than one stride. As Dean squats down and picks up the car with one hand, Sam finds himself staring again: the car's roof and both windshields fit snugly under Dean's palm and fingers. At least the hood and trunk stick out on either end—somehow, Sam is comforted by that. Dean glances down at him, and Sam looks away. Then Sam hears it: a helicopter. He pans the sky and sees it buzz into view

"Cue the Unwelcome Wagon," Dean mutters. He tucks the Impala under his arm and holds it like a football. "Hold on, Sammy…"

Sam sees the chopper's guns light up just as Dean turns and breaks into a run. The force of the huge body in motion pins Sam back against Dean's chest. Sam looks up through the top of the pocket just as a second helicopter approaches and opens fire. Dean hisses as pinpricks of blood open up near his elbow. Still running, he lifts his arm—and the car—up for a look.

"Damn those little bastards sting…" He notices Sam's worried stare, and he smiles at him. "Relax—they're barely surface wounds. I'm too big for them to inflict any real damage."

The whistle of a missile cuts through the air, and the wild grass directly in front of Dean explodes. He jumps and rolls out of the way, right hand over his pocket-sized brother the whole time. "…or not," Dean concedes, cocking his head left and right. Another missile flies, and Dean's quick reflexes get him out of the way and on the run in the blink of an eye. Bullets spray all around him, and he hears a tell-tale clink of metal on metal. "Watch the car!" Dean yells at them, hugging his car closer. Then he peers down at his brother. "You all right?"

"I'm fine!" Sam shouts back. It's a lie, but he hopes Dean doesn't catch it. Sure Sam is physically fine, but everything else is screwed up. Like it isn't weird enough to be small enough to fit inside his brother's shirt pocket: now they're running from helicopters that are trying to shoot Dean down while Sam is still in that shirt pocket! _And that's not even the worst part, _Sam remarks in his mind, ears filled with the sound of Dean's rapid heartbeat and his wheezing lungs. Dean is hurting again—Sam can feel the goosebumps prickling underneath the fabric and the trembling muscles inside those gigantic arms and statewide legs.

_And he'll just keep going, _Sam thinks, scared and frustrated. _The pain I know he's in could be ten times worse, and he'd STILL run to protect me. _As Dean takes off into yet another field, Sam pries himself off the pectoral wall behind him and jumps up to the pocket's opening. He opens his mouth to yell some sense into Dean, but he spots something up ahead and warns him instead. "Tank, 11 o'clock!"

Dean sees it and breaks to the right as the tank fires. Something hits him in the small of his back, but it doesn't cut into him or explode. Dean looks over his shoulder and sees a small, cylindrical something sticking to his shirt. He pulls it off and has a closer look. Sam leans forward as well, just as curious. Without warning, it bursts open, and a yellow cloud of gas plumes into their faces. They cough and swear, and Dean drops the canister and clomps away, eyes watering from the stuff.

"First they shoot at me, now they gas me! What the hell did I ever do to these guys?" Dean looks down at Sam, expecting him to comment, but Sam has ducked down inside the shirt pocket. "Sam? Hey…" Dean widens the pocket's opening with his thumb and finger and finds his brother curled up and struggling to breathe. Dean hears the tank rolling and the helicopters flying in the distance, so he looks for someplace to lie low—if that's even possible at his current size. There's a large hill up ahead, so Dean takes off in that direction.

"Hang on," he tells Sam, cupping his hand over his small form just to be safe. "Gonna try and get us a little breathing room." Sam only coughs some more in reply. Dean turns to run again, only to wobble as his dizzy head and burning lungs nearly send him toppling. His spine feels like it's going to rip right out of his back, and his knee caps are ready to burst. His entire body is so _heavy_. Every part of him is crying at him, BEGGING him, to not make them move anymore.

Then Sam starts to choke as he coughs, and his mind switches off his own misery and back to his brother's well-being. _Just get to that hill. _Dean pushes his strained body on and runs as fast as he can, biting his tongue and the inside of his cheek to work through the pain. He clears the large hill, then another hill beyond that, and a barn appears. Muscles and back fully exerted now, he hobbles over to the barn and sits down on its far side, away from the matching farm house. He swallows his heart back down, looks around, and listens. The helicopters are either too far behind him now, or have given up the chase altogether. Dean hopes it's the latter. Setting the Impala down beside him, he leans his back against the side of the barn and relieves his aching back.

"Think we're safe for now," Dean pants, chest heaving in and out. He feels the little ball under his palm move, and he gently reaches in and scoops Sam out. Sam collapses onto his back, breathing as hard as Dean. "Hey, I just outran the military machine," Dean jokes, still out of breath. "What's your excuse?"

Sam glares a little as he sits back up. He tries to speak, but coughs are all that come out. Dean watches the little guy in his hand and waits patiently. Sam clears his throat and tries again. "Not…military," he chokes out at last.

"They have a tank and two army helicopters," Dean replies. "Seem pretty military to me."

"That's not what I mean," Sam rasps, his voice still rough from inhaling the gas. He motions for Dean to wait, and he leans over the side of the huge hand, horks up all the crap in his throat, and spits it down at the ground far below.

"Thank you for not gleeking up my car."

Sam nods as he sits back up. "Can't be the military, Dean," he starts again. "You should've seen them when they were tying you up. They had special machines to shoot out the ropes, other machines to move your limbs around and get you on your back, right where they wanted you." Dean opens his mouth to make a crack about that, but Sam cuts in first. "Even the way they secured the cables was something out of a sci-fi movie. They pressed a button on the top of these little, bug-like devices, and they drilled down into the concrete, pulling the cables taut." Sam shakes his head as he thinks back on it. "It was perfect: the precision, the planning, and no one shouted any orders the whole time. Dean…" Sam looks up into his face. "It's like they've done this _before_."

"So what, they're professional giant hunters?" Dean balks.

"Hey, it's possible. They did say they've crossed paths with hunters. Maybe they hunt monsters in their own way?" Sam gets glared at for using a certain word, but he glares back. "You know what I mean. And come on, what basic training covers giant recovery? They have to be something else—some organization that's disguising itself as military."

Dean sighs and rubs his forehead with his free hand. "Anti-giant squad. Now I've heard everything." He sets Sam down, and Sam looks over at the car. There's a bullet hole in the left fender. He winces at the sight and gives Dean a look of sympathy.

"I know," Dean says, hand still to his head. "Shooting at my girl. Fuckers are gonna pay for that." He reaches over Sam and picks up the car, and Sam ducks on instinct when the bottom of the Impala moves over his head. That's just not normal. Dean doesn't notice, however, just brings the car up to him like she's his most beloved toy. He holds her in both hands and inspects her for further damage.

"What's that under the muffler?" Sam asks, pointing up. Dean lifts the car up so he can see for himself.

"Son of a bitch…" He scrapes his nail against the metal, and a tiny device drops at Sam's feet. "Please tell me that isn't what I think it is," Dean groans.

Sam picks it up for a closer look. It's definitely a tracking device. Sam confirms Dean's fear with a nod, and Dean swears under his breath and sets the car down. "So I led them right to us," he growls. "That's just great. Here I thought I was doing the right thing by getting the car for you to use, and instead I bring the Asshat Army to our door. Dammit!" Dean pounds both his fists on the ground, and both Sam and the car bounce from the vibration. "Sorry," Dean offers, tucking his huge hands behind his back.

"Don't be," Sam tells him as he steps on the tracking device and breaks it. "How were you supposed to know there was a tracking device on your car? We know how to prepare ourselves for a lot of things, Dean, but a tracking device? Seriously?! There's no way either of us could have known."

Dean mulls this over a moment. "It's weird. They don't know who we are, and yet they must've been following us…knew where we were staying, knew my car…" He glances down at Sam and says, "I haven't seen anyone tracking us, though. You?" Sam shakes his head no. "So when did it start? And why us?"

"They must have seen you at some point after you started growing," Sam concludes. "Could've been at any time over the weekend."

"Douchebags on a stakeout. There's a fun thought" Dean rubs at the clotted cuts and cable burns on his arms. "Least we got out of there before they started the water boarding."

"Hey, how did you know?" Sam asks. Dean's eyebrows lift in question. "You gave the car code just a minute before you started to grow. How did you know it was coming?"

"Before I woke up, I had another hydros dream. It was on the move again. Ate a few people…" Dean pauses to grimace. "THAT was fun to experience. Anyway, it sensed a lot of water just beyond a wall, and I woke up while it was trying to bash through. Knew it was just a matter of time before it got to the water and we both grew again." Dean's voice is near mumble as he finishes the short story, and his eyes close as he hangs his head. Sam is sure he can hear the pounding headache Dean is suffering through. He's also sure it isn't just the pain that's bothering his brother right now.

"And that's why you were shaking…?"

Dean looks up at Sam's leading question. "Well, yeah," he answers. "Always get shaky before I grow. You know that."

"But usually you start shaking right before it begins," Sam continues, stepping closer. "This time you were trembling several minutes before." Dean is quiet. Sam moves up to Dean's boot, which is as long as the car, and rests his tiny hand against the shoe's toe. "Dean?"

Dean shakes his head and gives him a frank look. "Don't know, Sammy. Must've just been different this time." He motions to the car. "Get in. You'll be better protected if you're inside." Sam crosses his arms and remains right where he is. Dean gives a half-smirk. "Unless my shirt pocket's more comfy than the leather bench seat…"

"Stop it," Sam snaps. "I know what's going on with you."

"What, that I'm in a world of hurt these days?" Dean responds. "I know you do—I told you all about it, remember?"

"I mean the panic attacks, Dean."

Dean blinks. "What panic attacks?"

"DON'T—!" Sam points up at Dean's eyes. "Just don't, Dean. Don't pretend, don't lie, don't fucking reassure me, all right? I'm not stupid and I'm definitely not blind. You're having flashbacks about being in Hell. It's not just nightmares anymore—it's during the day, too." Dean looks both angry and shocked, but he doesn't say a word. "I wish you'd talk to me about it once instead of trying to hide it," Sam tells him, starting to pace in front of the giant boots. "I'm your brother, Dean! Why can't you let me help YOU for once?"

Dean opens his mouth, and Sam waves his arms in the air. "I know, I KNOW…don't say it. You're the older one, you're supposed to protect me, and nothing I say or do will help you forget what you went through." Sam spins on his heel and looks up at him. "Well I don't care! I'm not Dad, all right? I don't expect you to just soldier up and get on with it. You were in HELL, Dean. You don't just get over that. And no one expects you to!"

Dean shuts his eyes and tucks in his chin, the anger gone from his face, replaced by shame. Sam moves over to Dean's hand and steps back into his palm. "Dean…I'm not judging you here. It doesn't…" He pauses when Dean lifts his head back up, turning his eyes to the sky. "It doesn't make you weak or some kind of failure to remember what you went through. It makes you human. I just want…I wish…" Dean's eyes fall on Sam, and Sam gives a hurt smile and looks down. "I couldn't save you from Hell," he says, his own shame about letting Dean down still burning through him. "And I couldn't get you out." Eyes shining, he blinks back up at Dean. "Least I can do is help you now that you're back, y'know?" Dean gives the slightest nod, looking touched and surprised at the same time. "Even if it's just to reassure you once in a while," Sam adds, patting Dean's giant thumb. "Not that you need it." Dean smirks at that. "You're still my big brother, and I still look up to you." Sam smirks as well and adds, "Course, these days I have to look way, WAY up to you…"

Dean huffs a single laugh and, using his index finger, gives Sam a giant version of a chuck on the shoulder. It makes Sam fall over. Sam laughs and gets up, and Dean pushes him again. "Heh, my brother the weeble," Dean giggles as Sam gets up. Dean tries a third time, but Sam dodges him.

"Oh sure, I pour my heart out, and you push me over," Sam grins.

"You sound surprised," Dean grins back. "Now hold still, I wanna do the Pillsbury Doughboy thing." Sam puts his hands on the big index finger to shove it away, only to freeze up as a funny look crosses his face, his eyes on something by Dean's feet. Dean looks over and sees the farmer and his wife, jaws dropped, eyes bulgy. "Oh I didn't mean…it's not like…" Dean starts. "I meant the hee-hee thing, y'know? Nothing kinky." The wife passes out. Her farmer husband holds his scythe up. "Woah, easy. We're brothers, I swear!" Dean holds up his hands, and the farmer passes out as well. Dean looks down at Sam. "We're in _Deliverance_ country, and they're judging us?"

Sam bites his lip to keep from laughing at Dean's oblivious misunderstanding. _Sure, Dean. It's incest they're freaking about, not the giant sitting by their barn. _"Maybe they're brother and sister and don't want us to find out what THEY'RE up to," Sam says in good humor.

"Well that's just…" Dean trails off as he hears a rumbling in the distance. He looks over the barn but doesn't see anything.

"What?" Sam asks, but Dean shushes him, looking every which way. Then his eyes lock on to something and his face falls.

"Get in the car."

Sam doesn't ask, just runs for the Impala and gets in behind the wheel. The windows on either side of Sam go dark. Then the back of the car lifts up, making the hood rock forward. The ground slowly falls away from the front bumper as the car lifts backwards into the air. Then the scenery turns, the car rights itself, and Dean's huge green eyes look in at Sam through the windshield. "Hold on, tight as you can," Dean tells him, looking very serious.

Sam nods and tightens his grip on the wheel. Incoming…somethings sound in from behind him, and Dean presses the driver's door against his chest as he runs. Sam's ride is much rougher this time than it was in Dean's pocket; he feels like he's on a mechanical bull as he's jostled around. The helicopters return, each doing a fly-by on either side of Dean's head. Something shoots past his shoulder, and he skids on a patch of dirt and veers left. Sam gets his first glimpse of the long line of Humvees blazing across the fields. They're shooting more gas canisters at them, but Dean is covering so much ground as he runs that he's literally leaving them in the dust. A copse of trees comes up and Dean easily leaps over it, landing with a great THUD on the other side. Dean grins, but Sam doesn't share it—not when his brother is struggling against his own body just to keep moving.

_You can't just keep running, Dean—you're gonna kill yourself! _Sam wants to shout, but he knows it won't do any good. Dean will keep going no matter what Sam says—IF Dean can even hear his little brother over his giant, pounding heart. Dean turns again, and Sam looks out through the passenger window to see forward. A highway comes into view, cutting across the countryside before him. Dean heads right for it.

"Perfect," he thinks aloud. "Civilians. They won't risk hurting them."

The helicopters zoom back in and buzz over Dean's head again. He shoos them off with his free hand and keeps running. _Something isn't right, _Sam worries, looking ahead. Dean's big enough that the people in the cars on the highway should be able to see them by now, yet no one's crashing into each other. No one's even slowing down. Dean gets within 100 yards of the nearest lane, and the helicopters abruptly break away. Sam is now able to make out several semi trucks on the highway.

They're all the same truck.

"Oh shit it's a trap. DEAN!" He pounds on the window to get Dean's attention, but Dean is looking behind him, yelling at the Humvees still giving chase behind him to "fuck off already". Sam tries rolling down the window, but the car is so close to Dean's chest that the folds of his grey tee start to spill inside. So Sam rolls the window back up and honks the horn until Dean looks down.

"Sam?"

Sam yells something, but the helicopters are making too much noise above for Dean to hear him. Slowing his stride just a little, Dean lifts the car up and looks in through the windshield. "What?"

"IT'S A TRAP!"

The semi trailers open to reveal huge, modern cannons, and a barrage of gas canisters fly. Dean turns on his heel and twists, covering Sam and the car as best he can. Yellow smoke fills the air and burns at Dean's eyes, but he ducks through the acrid cloud and runs to the left, heading away from the highway and the Humvees. He starts to feel dizzy, so he smacks himself in the face with his free hand to keep moving. The helicopters start firing bullets again, and Dean crawls under an overpass and crouches down into a ball, enveloping the Impala with his body.

"Bastards must've set up a roadblock," Dean mutters to his brother. "Dammit, I should've thought of that." Sam doesn't say anything. Dean lifts his head up, allowing some light into his man-made cave. "Sam?" Dean moves his hand over the Impala to lift it back up, and he cuts his finger on something sharp on the passenger side. He turns the car around and sees the passenger-side window broken into big shards of glass.

Sam is lying motionless across the bench seat, blood covering his face and hair.

"Shit." Dean uncurls all the way and starts to cough—the air is tinted yellow from all the gas canisters fired at him. Helicopters circle above the overpass like buzzards, guns locked and loaded, as the Humvees approach from behind him. Dean just keeps his eyes on his injured brother. "Come on, Sam, wake up." Coughing into his shoulder, Dean works at the Impala's door handle with his finger nail, but it won't open. "Locked…course it is…" He doesn't bother trying the other ones, knowing they'll all be the same. Wincing, he turns the front of the car to his face.

"Sorry, baby…I'll make it quick." Dean pulls the driver's door off and gently pours Sam out of the car and into his hand. "Sam? Hey…" He touches Sam on the chest as gently as he's able and gives him a teeny shake. Sam doesn't respond. "Come on, Sammy…can't exactly do CPR right now…" Dean holds him as closely to his eyes as he can, straining to see the extent of Sam's injury, when something shoots at him from the right. Dean no sooner looks over when a grappling hook sinks into his watch band. "The hell?" More grappling hooks shoot out, and Dean stands up before they snag him. He breaks the rope with a flick of his wrist and glares at the source: the Humvees, surrounding him on all sides. Dean hears someone give the order to fire.

"WAIT!" he yells, and the soldiers manning the guns on the Humvee roofs all cover their heads as his voice booms around them. Dean kneels down on one knee and looks at the little man on the closest vehicle. "My brother…he's hurt. He needs a hospital." The man doesn't say anything, just centers his gun on Dean's throat. Dean holds his free hand out in a 'stop' gesture. "Just hang on, dammit! This is more important!" Holding Sam out in his other hand, Dean lowers his voice. "Please. He's not involved in any of this, all right? If you promise to get him some help…" He pauses, unable to believe he's really going to do this, "I'll come peacefully." Now the man at the gun looks around at the other men, each of them talking in code through their headsets. "Please," Dean asks again, looking around at them all. "No more running, no more anything. I'll go wherever you want me to. Just help him."

The man hails a Humvee behind him, and a crew of soldiers in white medic uniforms come out. "Thank you," Dean breathes, wiping the sweat off his forehead as they run up to him. "Thank you…" Dean sets his hand on the ground, and the medics lift Sam off and carry him to a waiting stretcher nearby. They lay him down on it…and start to tie him up.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Dean reaches out to grab him back, but the Humvees with the grappling hooks fire, ensnaring both his arms. Dean pushes forward, but the Humvees' wheels squeal into reverse, pulling him back. More hooks shoot out and wrap around his chest and upper legs, and the Humvees pull Dean to his knees, arms still pulled back behind him. As Dean struggles to free himself, the "medics" clamp Sam's arms to the side of the stretcher, and then one of them sprays Sam with something white. Whatever it is, it makes Sam moan in pain. "NO—get the FUCK away from him!" Dean pulls with all his might, but there are too many hooks digging into his flesh. The remaining Humvees shoot gas canisters at Dean, and at such a close range, each of them hits him and sticks on. They open as one, covering him with yellow smoke. Dean coughs hard and sways on his knees.

"No…Sammy…" Dean's watering eyes find his brother still on the ground, now wearing a gas mask as well. Sam has started to move, but his eyes still aren't open. More gas canisters appear on his shirt, and a final grappling hook whips around his neck and clasps in place. The Humvee shoots back, and Dean topples forward, gasping for air. The world careens around him as his vision peppers. Soldiers pour out of the Humvees and start tying Dean down, as others carry a huge syringe past his face. Dean watches Sam through his peppered tears. Sees him stir and finally wake up. Sees the awareness hit the little hazel eyes…the confusion wrinkle his forehead…the fear when the little eyes fall on his big brother.

"Sammm…sssorrry…" Dean slurs.

The syringe jabs into the side of Dean's throat, and the pepper becomes a blanket of black.


	11. Confined Part One

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N: **Lotta angst coming up in this story, folks, so brace yourselves. Vielen Dank to Katiki for being so awesome, not to mention her mad beta skillz.

Oh and FYI: This chapter was just enormous, so I've split it in two. First half is up now. Second half will be up soon. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Confined, Part One**

Sam knows he's supposed to wake up, but his body won't cooperate. It didn't move fast enough to avoid that dud of a gas canister that broke through the Impala's window and bashed into the side of his head. It won't let him open his eyes now. There's noise everywhere around him…blaring sounds and a voice he knows he should be able to identify, but can't. The unending racket swirls through his brain and confuses him even more.

_Just open your eyes, Sam, _the one 'with it' part of him commands. _Open your eyes…find out._

They don't open. The heavy blanket of sleep drapes over him again. _No. Stay awake. You have to do…something. Someone needs you. Someone…important… _The blanket stifles the voice and comforts Sam, lulling him away from pain and purpose.

Then the blanket begins to burn. Something is eating through it, covering every part of Sam from the neck down in deep, stinging agony. He moans in pain as the stinging becomes scalding, and he's pulled back into a world of chaos.

"NO—get the FUCK away from him!" Sam hears someone yell from somewhere close. Dammit, he KNOWS that voice. He opens his eyes, but they're watering too much to see anything but watercolors, so he shuts them again. His nose crinkles from the chemical stink of a powerful disinfectant, and his ears pang with more noise: motors and orders and whips. He tries to move, but only manages a wiggle. His body no longer burns, but is shaky from the shock.

"No…Sammy…" the voice says, very sad and very close.

_Don't…call me…Sammy, _Sam thinks, irritated.

His body jolts as it all snaps back at once. The chase. The car. The canister. The blood on the bench seat. _Dean is gonna kill me. _Another jolt. _DEAN! _

Sam opens his mouth to speak, when someone shoves something over his face. Sam breathes in the stale air of a gas mask. _What the hell is going on?! _There's a great THUD, and Sam feels his body lift off the ground and thump back down. _Dammit, open your eyes, NOW. _He forces the lids open, squinting and squishing the tears from his vision. A man in a white gas mask and matching white uniform is pressing something against Sam's head, right where the canister smacked him. Another appears next to him, and Sam's eyes follow him as he checks all of the bindings over Sam's arms and legs. _When did they…what the…?! _The man gives a thumbs up, and the people in white clear out.

Huge green eyes come into view as they step away: lids at half mast, yellow tears leaking down pale cheeks and onto the ground. _Dean? _Sam's eyes widen as he takes in what he's seeing. Dean's face is just a few yards in front of him. He's lying on his stomach and tied down again, with men in black crawling all over his back and arms. Sam asks him what's going on, but the gas mask swallows his voice. He looks back at Dean's eyes, willing his brother to understand his confusion and his fear. But the green irises are rolling, struggling to stay focused…and losing. Dean's lips part, and his heavy breaths puff brown dust off the ground and into the air as he speaks.

"Sammm…sssorrry…"

Then Sam watches helplessly as four men jab a giant syringe into the side of Dean's neck. Dean's chin drops into the dirt. Sam yells into his gas mask and struggles to free himself, but he's too weak to break free of the restraints. A man in white comes up to him and slips his own gas mask off.

"Don't struggle," he says. "We have to keep you stabilized due to the head trauma. Once we've given you a thorough examination, we'll untie you."

Sam yells into his gas mask some more, and the man finally takes it off of him. "What did you do to him?" Sam spits, glaring with all his hatred. The man glances over at Dean, and then looks back to Sam.

"Sedated him for the trip," he answers with a shrug. Another man in white steps up with a syringe for Sam. "Now it's your turn."

Sam doesn't even get a chance to grunt before the needle hits his neck. The last thing he sees is his brother's giant, sleeping face, surrounded by fake soldiers and their guns.

* * *

"Come on, Sam. Almost there."

Sam blinks, and sharp eyes shadowed by a green trucker's cap come into view. "…Bobby?"

Bobby nods and sits down next to Sam on the bed. "Welcome back, son. How's the head?" Bobby looks at Sam's forehead, and Sam lifts his right hand up and feels the stitches and bandages over his right temple and above his ear. "The two medics that brought you in here mentioned a mild concussion and bruised ribs," Bobby tells him, sounding acrimonious. "Asked 'em what happened, got ignored. Great bedside manner at this place…"

Sam hears what Bobby's saying, but his eyes are already searching for Dean. He finds Owen instead.

"Sorry," Owen waves from where he stands in the corner. "I know I'm not who you want to see."

Sam frowns and tries to get up, but Bobby holds him down. "Easy, Sam…"

"We have to FIND him!" Sam yells, struggling to get past Bobby. Owen rushes forward and holds Sam's arms down while Bobby presses Sam to lie back again. "Lemme go!" Sam starts to shake, his breaths turning to grunts, but still he fights to free himself. "They've captured him, Bobby, they're doing who knows WHAT to him—"

"And what good are you gonna be to your brother if you black out before you even make it out the door?" Bobby barks.

As if on cue, Sam's chin drops down, and he holds a hand up to his head. Bobby and Owen ease him back into the bed. Sam nods that he's all right, and once Bobby goes back to having one head instead of three, Sam takes another look around. He's in what appears to be a normal hospital room, walls of mint green and monitors. There's a door in front of him—flat metal, no handle. He's resting on a large bed, blankets covering his legs and folded over half his flannel shirt. _No hospital gown, _he thinks, thanking God for that small favor.

"Where are we?" Sam asks, only to break into coughing. Bobby brings a cup of water to Sam's mouth. Sam starts to gulp it down, and Bobby pulls it away again.

"Just take a few sips," he tells Sam. Sam nods at the instruction, and Bobby brings the cup up to him again and allows him to gradually empty the contents. "Now you rest while we talk. We got plenty of questions for you, so just wait your turn, all right?" Sam nods again, and Bobby takes the small water pitcher off the table and pours Sam another drink.

"We don't know where we are," Bobby begins. "Woke up here, just like you. Last thing I remember is the exit for Geneva last night. There was a roadblock at the bottom of the ramp." He hands Sam the cup. "Scanner hadn't picked up anything about any roadblocks or anything unusual, so I spun around to head back up. They were already behind me. I stopped, and some fella in action gear came up to my window. Took one look at me and shot a dart through the glass. Hit me in the neck." Bobby stands up, scratching underneath his cap. "Shoulda run, ya idjit," he mutters at himself. Sam smirks at the familiar word but quickly hides it when Bobby looks back. "Woke up here—lost over two hours, by my watch. It wasn't long after that when the door opened and Owen here got thrown in."

Sam looks at Owen now, who nods in affirmation. "Told you there were people after me," he tells Sam. "I'd just finished restocking my supplies and was about to head back to your little hideout when I felt them." Sam frowns, not understanding, and Owen taps on the side of his head. "Up _here_. Empath and telepath, remember? Not that either of my special can-do did me any good. There were too many of them—all their voices and negative thoughts overloaded my senses." He looks to Bobby now and adds, "Wouldn't have made any difference if you'd ran, Bobby. I did, and they had me captured in a flash. Got the same treatment as you: dart to the neck, escort to wherever we are now."

"Did they say anything?" Sam asks. "Why they were taking you, or what they wanted?"

"No. Just nicked my supplies and tossed me into this room." Owen brushes his hand over his five o'clock shadow. "It's bizarre. They track me over two countries and an ocean, and yet once they've got me, they don't interrogate me at all. How is that even remotely normal?"

"Dunno, kid," Bobby sighs. "I didn't get the 20 questions, either. What the hell do they want from us?"

"It's not us they want," Sam says, and Bobby and Owen both look to him. "It's Dean. We're just accessories." And he begins to fill them in on everything that's happened since Owen left them to get supplies. Sam only touches on his own accident and what little he remembers from when he got back to Dean, not wanting Bobby to think he's even weaker. Both Owen and Bobby listen, letting Sam say everything he needs to. It's only when he gets to that morning's ambush and chase—specifically, their captors' giant-hunting equipment and expertise—that Bobby slaps his cap across his knee and stands up. He turns away from the others and looks at one of the monitors, grumbling to himself.

"So how big would you say he is now?" Owen asks, though, like Sam, he keeps his eyes on Bobby's slumping back.

"Not sure. 50…maybe 60 feet? Big enough to carry the Impala like a toy."

Bobby sighs a "damn" but still keeps his back to Sam. Sam looks at Owen again. "Owen, do you think you could locate Dean with your telepathy?"

"I've already tried," Owen replies sadly. "There's some sort of block in this place, like someone's put mental cling film around everything outside of this room."

Sam frowns. "Cling film?"

"Yeah, that clear, clingy film you wrap your sandwich in. Know what I mean?"

"Oh, Saran Wrap."

Now Owen frowns. "Saran Wrap?"

Bobby steps up to them now, and they both look at him. "No, please, don't let me interrupt yer intelligent discussion of what to rightly call semi-useful kitchen aids. I'll just wait here till ya get back to talkin' about Dean." Owen and Sam both start babbling apologies, and Bobby holds his hand up. He waits a beat, then looks at Sam. "How's his ticker?"

"Fine…I think. He was doing the exercises," Sam looks at Owen as he says that part, "but you know how Dean is. He could be in traction and still swear that he's fine." Sam glares at nothing, so frustrated with his brother over that. "But I heard it," he murmurs. "While we were escaping. HE was escaping, I was only along for the ride…" Sam looks at his lap as he remembers. "His heart was pounding, slamming against me like a wrecking ball. He was wheezing badly and his whole body was shaking from the stress. And I couldn't help him…" Shining hazel eyes glance at Bobby and Owen in turn, and Sam's face goes stony. "That's why we have to help him now. We have to get him away from those people before—"

The door slides open, right out of _Star Trek_, and a female doctor runs in, her face red and her long, grey-and-chestnut hair starting to fall out of her low ponytail. "Which one of you is Sam?" she asks, out of breath. None of the men answer her. "Please! It's about Dean. He's in trouble—"

"What kind of trouble?" Sam asks, sitting straight up.

"He's suffering some kind of attack, yelling about fire and demons. We've tried restraining him, but that just seemed to make things worse."

"You have to let him go RIGHT NOW," Sam says, getting out of bed. This time Bobby and Owen don't stop him. "He's got PTSD. You're just making him relive his…" Sam stops himself from saying "time in Hell" and instead says, "ordeal."

"That's just the problem—the restraints are programmed to stay shut until he calms down." They all shoot death glares at her, and she throws her hands up. "Hey, I didn't design this place, all right? I didn't even give the order to restrain him! I'm here to help Dean, NOT hurt him, and if we don't get him to calm down pronto, he'll go into cardiac arrest. And I REALLY don't want to see that, do you?" She watches the men exchange looks of dread. "Please, Sam, I need you to come with me. Hell, all of you come with me. Maybe you can get through to him."

Sam nods. "Show us the way."

She waves them out the door, and once they file in behind her, she locks it up again by punching a code in a keypad. "Stay low and keep moving," she whispers. "I haven't been authorized to release you. Don't need any idjits stopping us to ask stupid questions."

Bobby and Sam share both an amused smile and bemused eyebrows, while Owen motions for them to hurry up. They scoot down several corridors until they come to an elevator. The doors are horizontal instead of vertical, and they open like a big, mechanical mouth. Once inside, the doctor inserts her ID badge into a slot and asks for level G4. The elevator descends. She turns to look at her company and finds them all studying her.

"I know, I know. Why should we trust you, why should we believe you. Well, you can't. You just met me, and who knows what those douchebags in the Retrieval Unit did to you. I'm not one of them, all right?" She shakes her head, appearing disgusted. "Look, believe me, don't believe me, I don't really care—I just want to help Dean. That's all that matters right this moment. You can judge me all you want later. Just help me help him."

Sam looks her in the eye and finds only sincerity. He nods and extends his hand. "I'm Sam. This is Bobby, and this is Owen. Thank you for taking us to my brother, Mrs…?"

"Not a Misses anymore," she smiles, shaking his hand, then Owen's. "Dr. Michelle Madigan. Dean calls me Meesh." She turns to Bobby and takes his hand. "And you can just call me," she winks. She turns to face the front of the elevator again, and Sam can't help but stare at Bobby. He's blushing. Bobby Singer is actually blushing. Bobby catches Sam looking, and Sam clears his throat.

"So, uh, how much further?"

"Few more floors. There's a special level where we keep the giants."

"Giants?" Owen repeats. "There are others here?"

"No, right now there is only Dean. But there have been others in the past."

The elevator stops and opens, and they step out into a stark, modern Cathedral of a corridor. The ceiling is at least eight stories above them, and the walls are sleek and gunmetal in color. Six enormous doors face each other, three on each side of the hallway. Sam, Bobby, and Owen all hunch over slightly at the sight, the size and weight of the walls almost crushing, making them feel very small.

A scream cuts through every wall and person—desperate, terrified, alone. "This way," Michelle says as she breaks into a run. They stop at the last door on the right, though their eyes go to a large, crumpled piece of metal in the middle of the hallway. Michelle enters another code onto the keypad, and a much smaller door—one proportioned for regular folks—slides in the corner of the larger door. The moment it does, they get blasted back by another scream.

"NO!" Dean's voice wails, hoarse but still booming. Bobby, Owen, and Sam all look at each other, fright in their eyes. They hear Dean howl in pain, and Sam pushes past Michelle to get inside first.

What he sees breaks his heart.

Dean is in the center of a giant room and writhing on the ground in a pool of his own sweat and blood. Countless heavy, taut chains have grabbed him from holes in the walls, ceiling, and floor, and have shackled themselves around every part of Dean: limbs, chest, back, feet, even the hem of his shirt. Some are snaked around his torso, one around his throat. He's bleeding badly, especially around his wrists and neck. But it's his face that devastates Sam the most. Contorted in hurt and horror, Dean is sobbing as much as he's yelling. He turns his face to the floor and starts pounding his forehead into the ground.

"Stop it stop it STOP IT," he begs, hitting his head harder with each repetition. Then he pulls his arms out and cranes his neck, groaning as he tries to stretch himself free, but the chains hold tight. Dean rolls onto his side and tilts his head up. "WHY am I back on the rack?!" he yells, so loud that all of his very concerned onlookers have to clamp their hands over their ears. "I did what you wanted, you fucking bastard—I did EVERYthing!" The last word turns into a war cry and fruitless struggle. Breathing hard, Dean gives up for the moment and turns his face to the side.

His reddened eyes lock on Sam. Neither one says anything, just looks at the other man. "Dean?" Sam tries at last. Dean keeps quiet, staring with so much hurt in those green irises. Sam creeps forward. "It's all right. We're gonna get you out of those chains, I promise, but first you have to calm down."

Dean shuts his eyes and utters a small, "No."

"Open your eyes, Dean," Sam tells him. "Keep them on me. Focus."

He opens them back up and glares at Sam. "Not SAM." He reaches his huge left hand out to grab him, but the chain keeps him from extending his full reach; his fingers stop just short of Sam, but they grapple for him just the same. Sam gapes at the hand as much as the gesture: Dean's index and middle fingers are shredded, skin flayed above the knuckles. Sam reaches out to touch the devastated skin, but the giant hand flinches away from the tiny one.

"Not falling for it again," Dean hisses, "you HEAR ME YOU FUCKERS?" His hand becomes a fist and thumps into the ground, knocking Sam and the others over. "Not again," he repeats, bringing his hand back to his face. "Not again. Not Sammy. NEVER Sammy."

And he rolls onto his other side, chains jingling and twisting and chafing as he moves, and he turns his massive back to them all.

* * *

_Two hours earlier…_

Dean wakes up to a throbbing headache and a kink in his neck the size of Alaska. He brings a hand up to his face and rubs it. _Least I can move, _he thinks, moving his hand to smooth out the neck pain. _That's a start._

He opens his eyes to a high ceiling of steel girders and countless, square fans. He sits up and discovers that he's on a cot. _Comfy, _he comments in his mind, looking it over. To his surprise, it's just one cot, and it's just his size. His gaze wanders around the room and, along one of the toothpaste-colored walls, spots a nearby sink, soap dispenser, mirror, towel, and a toilet, also his size. Dean slowly stands up, every muscle and bone throbbing as he does so. His head doesn't hit the ceiling—doesn't even come close, in fact. Dean wanders over to the sink and turns on the faucet. He washes his face, rubs his hand along his scruff, and looks at himself in the mirror.

"So what is it?" Dean asks his reflection. "Are you normal again, or is this a mind fuck?" He looks at the sink, down at his aching body, back at the cot, and finally at his hands. "It's a mind fuck," he decides, flexing his hands and letting them drop. "No way did those little bastards cure you."

He gets his confirmation when he spots something black in the far corner of the room. The Impala sits lonely and covered with earthen dust, driver's door propped up against the wall. Dean rushes over to her and gently picks her up. "I'm so sorry, baby," he soothes, cuddling her against his chest. "I swear I'll fix you up good as new as soon as I'm back to normal." She doesn't seem convinced. He hugs her again. "Sam was in trouble, I had no choice…" His mind flashes back to discovering Sam unconscious and bleeding in the car. He sets the Impala down and stands up, looking for a door. There isn't one. No windows either.

"Hello?" Dean calls. "Where's my brother? I just want to know how he is." No one answers him. He pounds on the closest wall. "HEY. Bad guys. I know you're out there. Someone answer me before I start kicking my way through this place!"

Dean looks around when he hears a number of locks clicking in the walls. A tiny door slides open to his left, and several men dressed in bright yellow quarantine suits file into the huge room. Dean kneels down as they walk toward him, each holding up a scanner of some kind and waving it in the air as they approach.

"What, you think I've got a cold?" Dean jokes. No one answers him. The four men circle around Dean's boots, calling out readings to each other. The number 19 keeps coming up for some reason. "How's my brother?" Dean asks them. "Is he all right?" He swallows hard. "Is he even alive?" No reply and no regard. Dean grabs one of the men and holds him up to his face. "HEY, I'm talking here," he glares at him. The man presses a button on his scanner, and a shock snakes out the antenna and into Dean's hand. "OW! Sonova…" He drops the man as he shakes his stinging hand. The man slows his descent with a mini jet pack built into his suit. Once he lands, he resumes taking his readings.

"Ignore the elephant in the room, huh," Dean grunts, still rubbing at his hand. "Fine. This elephant's got a headache, anyway." Dean turns and walks back to his cot. The little men follow, and as Dean lies down, they each fly up to get further readings. Dean swats at them. "Fuck off and let me rest."

"I think that's an excellent idea," says a woman's voice. Dean sits up a little as a female doctor walks into the room, hands tucked inside the pockets of her lab coat. She moves to the side of Dean's bed and looks up at both him and the men. "You can get your readings later. Let 19 have some peace."

The men land behind her and head for the door, some of them pausing to grumble at the doc. She ignores them, keeping her eyes on Dean. Dean gives her a once-over. Long, dark, curly hair with grey streaks here and there, gathered in a low pony tail. Friendly smile, short blue skirt, and fit, long legs stretching down from her lab coat. Dean smirks and shakes his head. "What?" she asks, still smiling.

"Just wondering why they sent in a cougar to play good cop."

She laughs. "Not a cop, and a cougar? Hardly. I like a man with experience, and no offense, 19," she looks him over, "but I'd wear you out in five minutes flat."

The corner of Dean's mouth curls up. "Must've left my reputation in my other pants," Dean muses, and the doctor smirks back. She signals 'one second' to him and disappears under the bed. Dean soon hears gears shifting. A portion of the floor right next to his cot slides open and a small platform with stairs rises up and aligns itself just above where Dean's left arm rests. "Well?" the doctor calls, and Dean looks down at her again. "You gonna give me a lift or make me use the stairs?"

Dean gives her a 'really?' look, and the doctor folds her arms and taps her toe. Dean lowers his hand to the ground, palm-side up, and the doctor steps on. Dean lifts her up to the platform, and she steps off and presses another button on the floor of the platform itself. A small workstation shoots up, tiny computer and everything, and the doctor takes a seat in the little chair. "That's better," she says. "Let's get started! First I'd like to know—"

"No, I get to go first," Dean tells her. "I'm the one that got shot at and drugged and dragged to this Motel 6 of yours. You want me to answer your questions, you're gonna have to answer mine first."

She nods as she mulls it over. "They won't let me tell you much."

"That's fine, cos right now, there's only one thing I need to know." Dean leans down so that his face is right in front of her. "Where. Is. My brother?" She looks confused. He looks afraid. "Is he all right?" Dean asks, putting his hands on either side of her little desk. "Is he alive, hurt, locked away in a cell like this one, what? I told them to take him to the hospital, but the fuckers tied us up instead, and—"

She waves her hands at him. "Woah, slow down, green eyes. Let me check." She turns to the computer and starts typing. "They don't tell me much either, but I'll see what they reported when you were captured." He leans in even closer, trying to see the screen, and she pushes a hand against his huge chin. "You mind? Don't like being crowded."

"Sorry." Dean leans back a little and waits for the news, hoping that it's good.

"All right. Says that the target was acquired—that's you—and that they also brought in a human male. He's been admitted to section 47, level B. That's quarantine."

"Quarantine? The hell?"

"Relax, 19, it's protocol. They delouse everyone before they set foot in the building, then quarantine them until they're deemed fit and clear of disease."

"Does it say anything about how he is?" Dean presses. The doctor looks again, but shakes her head. Dean sits up and sighs, frustrated and fearful. _Dammit, Sammy, please be okay… _Dean looks at his hands. His giant hands. They're strong enough to carry his car, but when his own brother is lying in them, bleeding out and unconscious, could they stitch up his cuts? Pick through his hair to get the broken glass out? Shake him gently by the shoulders or pat him on the face to try and get him to wake up? _No, _Dean berates himself. _They just held him like he was an injured bird. Then two seconds later, they handed him over to the same people that hurt him. Fuck. _Dean shakes his head again and lets it hang, weighed down by self-loathing.

"I'm sure he's all right," the doctor says behind him. "We've got an excellent care team here."

Dean doesn't look back. Just stares at his hands. His huge, _stupid_ hands. "He was really hurt," he mumbles. "His head must be scrambled by now. First the truck rolling over, then whatever happened in the Impala…all that blood…" His hands press into fists. "I should've taken him to the hospital myself, not trusted those assholes. I'm smarter than that, I KNOW better, right? So what the hell was that?! His fingers squeeze into even tighter fists, and Dean shuts his eyes. "Way to fuck up," he swears under his breath. His hands slowly unfold and fall limply to his lap.

"You had to act, and you did," the doctor speaks up. "If your brother was really that hurt, you didn't have time to wait for help. For all you know, you could've been running around for hours before you found a hospital." She walks along the narrow platform until she gets to Dean's back, and she pats him on his arm. "Don't beat yourself up, all right? And don't torture yourself with second guesses. I'll find out the truth about your brother. Where he's going, how he's doing, everything. I promise."

Dean looks down at her and nods his thanks. She pats him again and turns to walk back to her desk. "So you going to give me your name, or do I have to keep calling you 19?"

"19, huh," Dean says, lying back down and placing his right arm behind his head. "Were all the good prison numbers already taken?"

"Not quite. You're called 19 because you're the 19th giant we've seen in this facility."

Dean's eyebrows lift straight up at that. "You've captured 18 other giants?!"

"No. They were grown, right here. All volunteers." She watches the young man's eyebrows lift clear off his face now, and she waves it off. "Let's get back to you. Name? Please?"

"Ted Nugent."

She laughs. "Nice try, but I've slept with Ted Nugent, and honey, you're very cute, but you're no Ted Nugent."

Dean looks at her as she winks, and he chuckles in surprise. "What, you…really?" She nods and crosses her long legs. "I'll be damned," he says with respect.

"I do have a life, you know," she tells him. "Well, HAD a life…before I got cooped up in this place…before…" She looks sad for a moment, but just as quickly, she shakes it off and smiles at him again. "Still waiting for that name. You don't even have to give me a last name—just a first. The scientists may treat you as a number, but I treat people, not specimens. So what's it gonna be, huh? Are you a number or a person?"

Dean sits up, looking into her eyes. She looks right back, waiting. "Dean," he says at last. "I'm Dean."

"Nice to meet you, Dean. I'm Michelle Madigan, your doctor." She holds her hand out, but he only looks at it like she's holding a gun to him. "Fine, don't shake my hand," she snorts. "Let's get down to business. What hurts?" Dean rolls his eyes, and Michelle shakes her finger at him. "Now now, don't give me that tough guy, macho man, 'screw you, lady, I'm fine' crap. You're huge and hurting. Now tell me where and how much."

Dean grunts, "A lot and all over. Happy now?"

"Course not. You think I like seeing anyone in pain?"

"Well then you should've called off your damn attack squad," Dean growls. "Nothing like being chased by the armored division of the Army of Darkness to put you in a fantastic mood."

Michelle kicks her high heels off and jumps onto Dean's chest. She walks up to his face and points right into his nose. "Let's get one thing clear," she growls back. "I'm a lot of things, kid, but I am NOT one of them. I didn't tell them to capture you, and I certainly didn't tell them to hurt you. I didn't even know you were here until ten minutes ago. You say and think what you want about me, but do NOT group me with those mercenaries. Understand?"

Dean nods, keeping his wide eyes on her narrowed ones, and she nods once and turns on her heel, heading back to the platform. Dean lifts his arm up to help her back up there without being asked. Michelle sits back on her chair and takes out some paper and a clipboard. "Now tell me what hurts."

"My head's the worst," Dean answers, still locked in What the Fuck Was That? mode. "I've had a headache for days. My back's pretty messed up, too. I'm sore all over, like I went three rounds with a prize fighter and got my ass handed to me. It's been this way ever since I started growing."

"And when was that?"

"First noticed it Saturday morning." He watches her scribble on the paper. "So tell me: does the doctor-patient confidentiality thing apply here, or is that just a pipe dream?"

She smirks but doesn't look at him. "Officially, I'm supposed to report everything. But I've been known to keep a few things to myself." She gestures to the room with her pen. "Speak freely. There are no cameras or listening devices hidden away."

"So how does big brother keep an eye on me?"

"Lift up your left hand." He does, and she points at a raised area near the webby skin between his thumb and index finger. "Implant. First thing you got when you arrived here." Dean snatches his hand away and brings it to his face for a closer look. "It monitors your heart rate, body temperature, lung function, and brain waves."

"Yeah, I get it—they see me when I'm sleeping, they know when I'm awake…" Dean frowns as the facts start to sink in. "No cameras or bugs cos they don't give a damn about what I say or do. I'm not a person to them. I'm a thing." Dean glares at the ceiling. "A monster."

"We're all just things to them," Michelle tells him. "I've got an implant as well. Everyone does, even the cafeteria workers." Dean scratches at the bump on his hand, feeling the disc of metal underneath his skin, and Michelle pats him on the arm. "And you're no monster, Dean. Never, ever think that about yourself. You're a person." She gives a small smile and adds, "Just a really, really big one."

Dean laughs. "You sound like Sam." His expression drops at the name.

"Ah, so brother has a name, too. Younger or older?"

"Younger." Dean notices she doesn't write either of those things down, and he quirks an eyebrow in her direction. "Keeping that bit of info to yourself?"

"Well they don't really need to know your names, right? You're just numbers to them." She wags her eyebrows, and he smiles.

"Thanks, Meesh."

She smiles back "Meesh, huh? Why Meesh?"

"Cos you didn't introduce yourself as Michelle, but as Mee-chelle. Plus Meesh is more fun to say."

She considers that with a light laugh, and then claps her hands together. "Well! I'm going to go see about getting you some breakfast. You must be starving."

Dean rubs at his very-empty-and very-pissed-off-about-it belly. "That's an understatement."

"This place actually has pretty good food," Michelle says as she stops to put her shoes back on. "And they make it to your proportions, so get ready to chow down." She clacks down the stairs and onto the floor, and as the platform sinks back down, she looks up at Dean. "After that we're going to get you some pain killers so you can feel like yourself again for a while. How's that sound?"

"Almost too good to be true," Dean admits. She waves, and he watches her go. Once the little door slides shut, he lies on his back, listening to all the complaints his body is throwing at him. _Least we get food soon,_ he reminds them all. _And at least we have someone on the inside that's on OUR side. Can't really ask for more than that…_

He hears the door slide open again, and he leans over to his left. "Aww, you miss me already, huh?" he teases, looking around his shoulder and at the door. The good doctor isn't there. Instead, a little boy is staring at him, body draining of color.

"Didn't know I was getting a roommate," Dean jokes. The little boy presses his back to the wall, eyes as big as dinner plates. "Yeah, I'm huge, I know," Dean says. "But I'm not gonna hurt you, all right? I promise. I'm a nice giant. I like eating cheeseburgers, not kids." He smiles, and the boy starts to shake. Dean sighs. "Aw come on," he says as he stands up. "Am I really that scary?"

The kid opens his mouth and screams.

* * *

**A/N Additional: **I know, abrupt ending. But trust me, once you read the next half, you'll understand that this was really the only place to split the chapter. Oh and by the way, we've met this kid before… :)


	12. Confined Part Two

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal** (cont.)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

**A/N:** I don't normally ask for reviews, but I'd truly appreciate feedback on this chapter. It's double the size of a normal chapter and it was incredibly difficult to write. Most of it is dark and pretty graphic, just to warn you. I'll get back to the humor and fluff next chapter, I promise. But we had to go through the low point first, and this is definitely it. So please, if you'd be so kind, take a second to let me know if you like it or hate it. I'm very torn on how it came out.

Thanks as always to Katiki for her amazing beta-ing. Also, muckers was kind enough to make another manip for this chapter so everyone can understand the current size ratio. You can see it if you go to my profile.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Confined, Part Two**

For a young boy, he's awfully loud; the kid's got a pair of pipes like a fat lady at the opera. Dean cups one hand over his ear and holds the other one out in a 'stop' gesture.

"All right, all RIGHT, you're scared, I get it!" Dean yells. His booming voice is enough to freak the boy out even more: he jumps and clamps his mouth shut while his wider than wide eyes continue their silent scream. Dean takes a step back and lowers his hands. "Okay," he says gently. "I'll stay over here until you're ready to talk to me." He stands flat against the wall. "See? Way on the other side of the room. Nowhere near you. With me so far?" The kid nods from where he still stands glued to the wall with the tiny door. "Good. What's your name?"

"T-Tyler," the boy answers, still staring at the giant.

"Well it's nice to meet you, Tyler…" Dean stops and squints, trying to get a better look at the seemingly three-inch-high kid across the room. "Wait…Tyler? Tyler Durden?" Tyler nods feverishly, face still full of fear. "Tyler, it's me—Dean. We met the other day, remember? I was at your house and you were telling me about your pet snake Skippy." The boy starts to relax, shoulders finally pulling away from the wall, and Dean nods his encouragement as he steps forward. "Then I grew, and you asked if I was the Incredible Hulk. You helped me escape before anyone saw me."

"Out the back door," Tyler nods, recognition filling his face with color again. He walks forward, and the pair meets in the middle of the room. Dean smiles down at the 9-year-old, and Tyler cranes his neck to look all the way up at Dean and nearly falls backward. "Wow, Dean, you got BIG!"

Dean chuckles and goes down on one knee. "Yeah, I got big. How's your hand doing?"

"It's okay, see?" Tyler flexes it while keeping his stare—now awestruck instead of afraid—on his giant friend.

"So it hasn't grown at all?" Dean asks. Tyler shakes his head no. Dean sits down, looking worried. Tyler copies him and sits down too. "How did you get here, Tyler?"

"I was at the zoo with Mom and Dad, looking at the snakes. Mom hates snakes so she was outside, and Dad went to check on her." His face falls, and Dean waits patiently. "I dunno what happened," Tyler says at length. "Something bit me, and I fell asleep."

"Bit you?"

Tyler nods. "Right here," he points to the side of his neck. Dean frowns.

"Tyler, do you mind if I lift you up so I can see your bite mark?" Dean holds his hand out on the floor, and Tyler climbs onto his palm without question. Dean lifts him up slowly. "I won't drop you, I swear." Tyler doesn't seem worried at all, and Dean gives him a silent 'thank you' for not freaking out as he brings him up to his eyes. "Now show me where you got bit." Tyler points again, angling his head to the right, and Dean moves in as close as he can. There's a single cut of red on the kid's skin, and even though it's so very tiny, Dean's trained eyes can tell at once that it's no bite mark. _Drugged dart to the neck, _Dean seethes in his mind. _What the hell is wrong with these people?! He's a little kid for fuck's sake! I swear, if they've done ANYthing to him, I'm gonna—_

"Dean, are you mad?"

Tyler's voice brings Dean out of his enraged thoughts, and he looks at the earnest little face. "Yeah, I'm mad, but not at you," Dean reassures him. "I'm mad at the people that hurt you and locked you up in here with me."

Tyler looks around from his palm perch. "Where are we anyway?"

"I don't know. Me and my brother, we got captured. Don't know what they want with us, cos we never did anything to them."

"Is your brother a giant too?"

Dean smirks. "Nah. He's a sasquatch."

Tyler grins and jumps. "Really?! That's so cool!" Dean laughs, and Tyler grins even more. "You're like the Justice League, but better, cos you're real, and you could go after the bad guys and be, like, 'hey you, get out of our town, or you'll be sorry!' And then they'd be all, 'no way, make us!' and you could grab 'em an' throw 'em over buildings while your brother the sasquatch—"

"Sam," Dean offers, smiling.

"Sam, he'll push 'em through walls and roar at them and make them pee their pants cos they're so scared of him. And you could throw cars and smash 'em into the ground and climb up the Sears Tower and everything! And the jets would come and shoot atcha, psshew, pow, shhhhrooo," Tyler makes little gun and missile motions as he says this, "but they can't hurt you cos you're huge and strong, and you'd smush 'em like mosquitoes."

"Smush 'em, huh?"

"Yeah, smush 'em right up, cos they're mean and they deserve it! Then they'd run away and the whole town would cheer for you cos you saved them! Yay for Deanzilla and Sasquatch Sam, our heroes forever!" Tyler spins and drops into a sit, glowing with excitement. "God, that would be so AWEsome."

Dean nods, smiling even more at the Sasquatch Sam bit. "That would be pretty awesome," Dean agrees, lowering Tyler back to the floor. "But I don't think anyone would be cheering for me."

"Why not?"

"Well, what was your first reaction when you saw me?" Dean asks. Tyler looks down, face full of guilt. "Hey, it's all right. I probably would've done the same thing if I walked into a room with a huge giant. And that's my point: everyone would be scared of me, not happy to see me. They'd think I was a monster, not a hero."

"But you're not a monster," Tyler insists. "You're good. You're nice."

The tiny door slides open and the men in yellow quarantine suits are back. "That's not what they think," Dean murmurs, gently sliding Tyler in close to him. There are more men this time, but they surround Dean the same way as their previous visit, holding up their scanners and calling out their readings. One of them tries to scan Tyler, but Dean puts his hand up as a wall between them.

"Don't touch him," Dean growls. "It's bad enough you bastards took him away from his parents. You don't need to treat him like a lab rat on top of it." The man puts his scanner up to Dean and shocks him. Dean grunts from the pain but keeps his hand there. Another man walks up and they both shock him. Tyler looks up as something wet hits his head—a huge tear. "You'll have to do…better…than that," Dean stammers as they start to shock him continually. "Been through…much…worse…"

"Stop it." Michelle appears out of nowhere and storms up to the men that are shocking Dean. They pay no attention to her, so she grabs one of the scanners and throws it behind her. "I SAID, stop it!" she yells. A circle of yellow suits crowds around her, but her stern gaze doesn't falter. "You are here to take readings, NOT to inflict pain on my patients."

"We have orders to force compliance when the giant interferes," the man directly in front of her says.

"You can force your compliance up your poopshoots," Michelle snaps back. "I have authority here, and I'm ordering you all out. You can come back when and if you agree to treat my patients as the human beings they are, NOT as cattle that need prodding. Is that clear?" No one says anything. "And don't bother reporting me to your superior," she adds. "I've already talked with him, and he's on my side. If you want to keep your jobs, I suggest you fall in line Ay-Sap." Michelle points to the door and the men file out of the room. It isn't until the door slides shut that she sighs out, shoulders relaxing from their tense, commanding pose.

"It's all right, Tyler, you can come out now," she calls, still watching the door.

Dean takes his hand away, and Tyler looks up at him. Dean nods for him to go ahead. "It's okay, she's a doctor."

Tyler walks past Dean's knee, and Michelle turns around, smiling at him. "Hi Tyler, I'm Michelle. Dean calls me Meesh, and you can too, if you'd like." She holds her hand out, and Tyler takes it and shakes it.

"What's Tyler doing here?" Dean asks.

"I'll tell you while I take a look at your hand." She sees Dean scowl, but she steps up close anyway. "No arguments. Let me see it." He holds it out in front of her, keeping it limp and off the floor, and she examines the giant fingers one by one. "They took Tyler because of your connection to him," she begins. "They know you both got bit by a hydros, and they want to understand why Tyler here had the normal reaction, but you," she looks up at Dean, "just keep getting bigger. To be honest, I wouldn't mind finding out myself."

"How do they know about the hydros?"

Michelle takes pause and gives him a solemn look. "Because they've experimented with hydros venom in the past, _19_." She says the number with emphasis, making Dean remember what she'd mentioned about other giants. "Your blood tests confirmed their suspicions, so now they have you locked up together, in case you're contagious, which is absurd, of course, because they already know that a hydros bite isn't contagious in the least…"

"So Skippy was a hydros thingy?" Tyler cuts in, looking up at Dean. Dean nods, and Tyler pumps his arms, elated. "I KNEW he wasn't a regular snake!"

"Score one for the resident snake expert," Dean smiles. "Up high!" He takes his hand away from Michelle and holds his index finger up to Tyler, and Tyler jumps up and claps the tip. Dean hisses from an unexpected sting, but swallows it and does his best to look innocent.

"Nice try," Michelle says, waving for him to bring his hand back. Dean does, and she gets back poking at the patches of red, upraised skin. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you got here, Tyler. I was upstairs." She glances up at Dean. "Overheard Mr. Shady talking to one of his cronies about the new arrival. Don't know his real name," she clarifies, "only that he's pretty high up on the payroll scale. Wears a black suit and almost never takes off his stupid sunglasses."

"Oh, that douchebag," Dean groans, remembering Suit Guy well. Tyler snickers at the naughty word, and Dean smirks at his co-conspirator. Then he sees Michelle's face turn to that of a disapproving mom, and he clears his throat. "So, ah, what did Mr. Shady say?"

"He was discussing surveillance info. Said they'd been watching Tyler because of what happened to his hand, and then they saw you leaving his house one day."

_So that's when they started following me, _Dean thinks. _Dammit, we should've been more careful._ Dean's hand twitches with pain when the doctor touches a certain spot, so she hooks an arm around his middle finger and holds it in place.

"Almost done, I promise," she soothes as she rubs at the sore patch. Dean just hisses. Tyler runs up to his arm and pats his skin, and Dean can't help but smile at that. Finally Michelle pulls away and looks at both boys. "Second-degree electrical burn. It'll heal up on its own in a week or two, but it's gonna sting for a while. After breakfast, I want you to soak it in cold water for at least ten minutes."

"Breakfast?" Dean asks, and a mechanical sound answers him. Gears shifting, parts lifting…Dean looks to the wall across from his cot as a long section parallel to the floor swings up and open, like a prison door's food slot. A Dean-sized tray slides forward. It's flat in the middle and sports a high, wide platform on either side. A gargantuan plate covered with a mountain of eggs and huge strips of bacon rests on the low, central part of the tray. Two honey-laden biscuits and a glass of orange juice the size of a cement mixer truck sit next to it. Dean swears he hears a choir sing a heavenly "Aah!" as his eyes wander over the food.

"Well? It isn't gonna eat itself," Michelle teases. Dean slides over, lifts the tray onto his lap (where the two, higher sides rest comfortably over his thighs), grabs the jumbo fork, and digs in. Michelle pulls Tyler back as the crumbs and eggy bits start to fly.

"Tyler, I need to talk to you for a moment." They walk a short distance away, and she hands him a small device with a red button in the middle. There's a small, clear cap covering the button. "This is an emergency button. If either you or Dean starts to hurt or feel sick, I want you to press it right away. It'll let me know you're in trouble. All right?"

Tyler nods and pockets the device. At that moment, a piece of bacon flaps onto Michelle's shoulder, followed a second later by the tip of Dean's finger. He offers a quick and quiet "sorry" as he takes the morsel away, and Tyler giggles while Michelle shakes her head, smiling at her overgrown boy. Dean picks up the glass and starts to chug the orange juice, but Michelle shouts for him to hold on.

"Save a swallow for your painkiller pills." She walks under Dean's cot again, and Dean leans down and watches her punch a code into a tiny panel. A little door opens up next to her, and she pulls out two white, wafer-like pills. They're both about the size of a hula hoop. Michelle walks them back to Dean. "Here," she says, placing the pills in Dean's palm. "They work best if you take them while you eat."

Dean lifts the pills to his mouth, not sure about this. _It's one thing to trust Meesh, and I do…I think_. _But who knows where these came from. What if someone did a switch? What if this is giant poison or something? _His body seems to rise up in protest to his hesitation, every aching bit pouring on the pain and discomfort. _Then again, it'd be nice to not hurt everywhere for a while…_ Dean swallows the pills whole and washes them down with his juice. Then he grabs a biscuit, offering it to Tyler, who declines. Dean readily shoves it in his mouth.

"Meesh, how tall is Dean?" Tyler asks, staring up at Dean again.

"64 feet, 3 inches. At least, that's what he was when he was brought in here. He might have grown a tiny bit since then."

"Hope not," Dean mumbles extra quietly, licking honey off his fingers.

"Well, if you two gents don't need anything else, I'm off on an info run." Dean's head snaps around, and she says, "Yes, your brother's condition is on the top of my list. I was in the middle of searching for his chart when Mr. Shady walked in, so I'll get right back on it. You two just take it easy, all right? Especially you, Dean. The painkiller might make you a little dizzy at first, but that's to be expected. Just don't forget to soak your hand."

Dean waves his fork at her. "Thanks Meesh." She waves and disappears out the door. It slides shut behind her. As Dean pushes the emptied tray back through the slot, Tyler looks around the rest of the room and spots the Impala in the corner.

"Wow, whose car is that?" he asks, running over to it.

"That beautiful lady belongs to me," Dean smiles with pride. "Well, really, I belong to her."

"Can I sit inside?"

"Sure!"

As Dean gets up and steps forward, Tyler climbs in and sits behind the wheel. He honks the horn, then immediately freezes up, pulling his hand away like he's just touched a hot stove. He looks up at Dean with fear. "Dude, it's fine," Dean tells him, still smiling as he kneels down next to the car. "Honk it again if you want."

Tyler honks a few more times, then looks around at everything: the big, comfy seats, the radio, the weird little slot below it. "Is that for an iPod?" he asks.

Dean shoves the sick and wrong memory of Sam's iPod in his baby out of his mind and calmly replies, "That's a tape deck."

"Oooh," Tyler says, sounding impressed. Dean smirks at the reaction and makes a mental note to tell Sam that at least SOMEone appreciates the old format. Meanwhile, Tyler's eyes follow the outline of the open door before looking up at Dean again. "Why's the door off?"

"Well," Dean says as he sits down, "Sam was in here when he got hurt. My hands were too big to open the door, so I had to pull it off so I could help him." He smoothes his fingers over the roof and sighs. "I've apologized a hundred times, but I still think she's mad at me."

"She's not really mad," Tyler tells him. "She's worried about Sam, just like you." Dean looks down as he gives a slight nod. "I think she's worried about you, too," Tyler adds quietly. "She just doesn't want you to know, so she's pretending to be mad."

"Yeah, that sounds like her." Dean looks at the car and frowns. "What? You do that all the time! Remember Indianapolis?" He winces now like he's being yelled at. "Oh sure, you say that NOW…I don't remember you complaining then." Dean shakes his head and looks back at Tyler. "Sorry. She's very proud."

"My dad's car is a boy," Tyler tells Dean. "I don't like him very much. He's stuck up. Thinks he's better than everyone."

"Yeah, some cars are like that."

They both nod in complete understanding. Then Tyler looks at the exposed inside of the door frame. "Can you fix her?"

Dean smiles sadly at Tyler's question. "Normally I'd already have her fixed," he admits. "But right now…well…" He holds a finger up to the front tire to demonstrate his problem. The tip nearly covers the entire wheel. "My hands are too big, and the parts are too tiny."

"I could fix the little parts. You could hold up the door!"

Dean considers this. "I do have some tools under the seat...but I don't know. We might have to replace the hinge brackets—probably bent them when I pulled the door off. And if we're missing any bolts…"

Tyler hopped out of the car while Dean was talking, and now the kid is pulling tools out from under the bench and setting them on the floor. _He's movtivated, I'll give him that, _Dean thinks with a smile, only to drop into a grimace. His skull is throbbing again, enough to make him a dizzy, so Dean puts a hand to his head. His hand stings as his hair hits the spot where he was shocked repeatedly, and Dean remembers Michelle's orders to soak his hand. He's about to get up when Tyler stands up and brushes his hands clean.

"What's first?" he asks, so pumped with enthusiasm that he's actually bouncing on the balls of his little feet. Dean decides the hand soaking can wait. He reaches over Tyler and grasps the car door.

"First we have to see what we're up against."

So Dean starts teaching his young protégé how to fix a car door. Tyler takes to it like a natural. When it comes time to pry the detent spring out, Tyler slides the bar in and pushes with all his might, but it won't budge. When Tyler tries again, eyes shut tight and jaw clenched, Dean puts a finger on the end of the bar and gives it an extra budge. The spring goes flying, and Dean quickly sets his hand on the car's roof before Tyler sees it. "You are one strong kid!" Dean exclaims. Tyler beams with pride.

Then the car starts to shake under Dean's fingers, and Tyler's face falls. "Dean? You okay?" Dean doesn't answer him—his other hand is clamped to his forehead, and his eyes are closed. Tyler has to tug at Dean's thumb to even get him to look up.

"…huh?" Dean blinks. His eyes eventually focus on Tyler's concerned face, and Dean waves it off. "Sorry, kid. Head hurts a little."

"What about your neck? It's all blotchy."

Dean shrugs. "I'll be fine. But the car won't if we don't get those hinges fixed pronto."

They get back to work. Their progress is very slow, and it's not just from Dean having to constantly explain what Tyler has to do next. Dean himself frequently has to take breaks when his hands start shaking again, or when he's so dizzy he can't see straight. Tyler watches his friend's skin grow paler, while the blotches on his neck spread to his face and arms, getting redder all the time. But any time Tyler asks, Dean grins and swears he's fine. Tyler checks and rechecks he's got the emergency button in his pocket—just in case.

They've just finished up reattaching the door to its top bracket when Dean sits up and drops onto his back, breathing hard. Tyler turns to run over to him, but Dean puts his hand up. "No… 'm fine, Tyler…just…hot. God, it's hot."

"It is?" Tyler asks, looking around. Dean doesn't answer him, just pulls his blue shirt off and tosses it on the cot.

_Not enough. Still hot. _Dean's body is a furnace, every muscle pulsing in pain with the waves of heat fluctuating around him. Dean rolls over onto his knees, crawls to the sink, and, fighting against the crippling dizziness and ache, pulls himself up. He looks in the mirror and sees a ghost splattered in blood—at least, that's the picture his pallid complexion and scalded skin paint. His body is quivering all over, and his legs feel as if they'll give out any moment. Everything hurts. Everything's heavy. Everything's HOT.

Dean knows what's coming.

_Don't, _he orders himself. _Not here. Not now. Not with Tyler watching. You'll freak the kid out for LIFE. _He turns the faucet on and splashes water onto his face. _It's gotta be the pills. Painkillers my ass. More like giant roofies. _He pulls the cold tap as far over as it will go, cupping water and sending it over his arms, then down the back of his shirt.

Someone laughs, low and menacing. Dean's head snaps around to look, and the dizziness nearly sends him rolling onto the floor. He clutches the sink tight and hangs his head. _There's nothing there. It's just you and Tyler and your baby. No one else. _He takes a deep breath, ignoring the shakes as best he can. _No one else…_

_You sure about that? _asks a different voice. Dean ignores it and keeps his focus on the cool water. He scoops some into his mouth. It tastes so good, so _clean_. A third voice starts to say something, and Dean drowns it out with another long drink of water.

He chokes on the third swallow. The water tastes wrong. Metallic. Thick. He spits it back into the sink, and his eyes widen as blood seeps into the drain. The menacing laughter is back, now multiplied several times, as if a small audience is watching his every move. _No, Dean, don't do this. _He splashes more water on his face. _You're fine, this isn't real. You know it isn't real, dammit, don't DO this! _The faucet makes clogging sounds, and he looks down. Blood is now splattering into the basin. Dean's hands are covered with it. He looks in the mirror and sees his face and neck covered in it. The laughter turns into applause. Dean pushes away from the sink and stumbles back.

_It's not real. None of this is real…_

_Oh it's real, Deanie-boy, _a nasally voice, so dark and so familiar, says from behind him. Dean whips around to look. A shadowy figure as big as Dean, with white eyes and a destroyed face, throws him a smile. _Welcome back to reality. _

"Not…real…" Dean insists. The shadow winks and vanishes, leaving only tiny Tyler in its wake. Tyler is jumping up and down, frantically trying to get Dean's attention.

"Tyler…" Dean's knees finally give out, and he drops to the floor. Tyler rushes up, but Dean gently pushes him back. "Get in…my car," Dean gasps, rapidly losing strength as the fever wracking his body turns up the heat and the pain another few notches.

"What's happening, Dean?!" Tyler watches in fright as Dean falls forward. Two giant hands come down on either side of Tyler and keep his head from crushing the boy. Tyler stares up into the big green eyes, now rimmed with tears.

"I can't stop it!" Dean says, sounding so sad and so afraid. "Get in the car, Tyler, please. I'd never hurt my car. Duck low and stay down, no matter what you hear, no matter what happens to me." Then Dean cries out, one hand going to his back, and the giant collapses onto his side. He opens one eye and points to the car with a trembling finger. "GO, Tyler, now!"

Tyler dashes to the car and shuts the almost-fixed door behind him. Then he climbs across the bench seat and crouches down underneath the glove compartment. He jolts as Dean yells at someone to "stop…don't do this!" Tyler gets his emergency button out and presses it repeatedly.

Dean watches his car disappear behind a wall of fire. The lights above flicker out, replaced by utter dark. The flames spread, circling all around Dean. _No, _Dean thinks in desperation. _You can still stop this. Just calm down. _He takes deep breaths, hoping to quiet his pounding heart, but the air is now more smoke than oxygen; he coughs and curls up into a pained, suffocating ball. His body is baking, grey t-shirt and jeans soaked through with sweat. Dean tries to take the shirt off, but his arms are useless.

_That's it, _the nasally voice coos. _Come back to us, Dean. Dreamtime's over. It's a brand new day! Time to get to work!_

_I'm not there, _Dean tells himself, shutting his eyes. _Not in Hell. _

_Of course you are! Back in Hell Sweet Hell. _A fire flares up in Dean's mind, and the demon chuckles. _We even left the light on for you. _Moaning, Dean crawls sideways, hands feeling their way along the floor. _Ah ah ah, _the demon chides. _Can't let you leave just when the fun's about to start._

A new hurt, sharp and hot, hits Dean in the side. His eyes fly open and spot the hook. He knows that hook: It provided his very first pain when he was taken downstairs and locked up in the lobby_. _He looks it over, wanting to be wrong, telling himself to see something else, but he can't. It's the same giant meat hook, razor-sharp tip glinting in the orange light, illuminating the blood and torn flesh where it has impaled Dean's abdomen. Its chain pulls tight, and Dean wails in agony as the metal rips deeper into his back and stomach.

Suddenly, a rush of cool air. Dean looks up and sees a tiny rectangle of light burst through the wall of flames. A figure runs through and stops by the side of his face.

"Dean!"

He knows that voice. Dean blinks, eyelashes sticking together from all the tears. "…meesh?" The fires start to die down as he turns his head and focuses on her small form.

"Talk to me," she says. "What's going on? Where's Tyler?"

"…car," Dean mumbles. "Told him…hide…"

Michelle watches Dean's eyes struggle to stay open. "Hey, hey hey hey—stay with me." She touches his forehead and hisses. "You feel like you're boiling yourself for dinner," she grumbles in concern. "And I don't have to get readouts on your implant to find out how the rest of you fares…" Michelle stands directly in front of his sideways eyes, hand still on his forehead. "Dean, listen to me. You HAVE to calm down. Your heart can't handle…"

Michelle's voice is covered by a sinister chuckle. _I have to say, Dean, the kindly doctor is my favorite imaginary character yet. Not as hilarious as the angel, but still amusing in her own, pathetic way. Thanks for the laugh._

Dean opens his mouth to tell him to fuck off, but he coughs instead. His hand goes to his stomach as he cries out in pain. Michelle, still right there and scared, looks down the length of Dean's reclining body and spots a metal hook in his abdomen, heavy chain pulling at bloody flesh.

"When did they replace the cuffs with hooks?" she asks herself, horrified. Then she turns to the ceiling and yells, "He's a MAN, not a piece of meat! What the hell is wrong—"

"NO!" Dean yells. "Not in Hell, NOT in Hell…" He writhes on his back, hands switching between pounding at his head and covering his torn stomach. "No demons here, no fire…fuuuck, shut UP!"

Michelle runs up to his head, climbs up his hair, and jumps onto his nose. "Dean, LOOK AT ME." She waits until the eyes stop swirling and focus on her. "Your implant is connected to a security system in this room. If you don't calm down, more restraints will be triggered to come out. You'll trap yourself!"

Clarity comes into those green irises, plain and pained, and it breaks Michelle's heart to see it. "Tell me where I am," Dean whispers. "Tell me what's real. Please?"

Michelle says something in reply, but Dean can't hear her over the roar of fires alighting all around them. He shuts his eyes tight and shakes his head, making Michelle topple back to the floor.

"Dean?!"

The laughter picks up again in Dean's ears, and he brings his hands up to cover them, only to feel a stab in his right forearm. He opens his eyes and sees another hook embedded there, the strong chain wrapped once around his elbow. Fire and smoke spread around him, and screaming white noise rattles him to the core.

"Oh God, Meesh, if you can still hear me, get OUT."

_There is no out, _the demon laughs. _And there is no God. Come on, Dean, you know that! _Another hook jabs into Dean's ankle, and hundreds of demons, all as big as Dean, emerge from the fires. _Let's get your Welcome Back party started, _the white-eyed demon smiles.

_No. Not again! _Dean looks around for any exit, ANY hope. In the distance, the tiny rectangle of light opens back up, bringing the cool air with it. Dean's adrenaline kicks in, and he lunges for the light, reaching his left hand out as far as it will go. His left middle and index finger shove through the miniature doorway just seconds after Michelle exits, and she flinches against the other side of the corridor as Dean's big and now bloody digits wriggle in front of her, huge but helpless. She dodges them and runs for the elevator.

"Gotta get out," Dean growls, pulling and pushing to free himself. Blood smears on the floor as he struggles: he'd landed on his belly, shoving the meat hook on its side and gouging himself even deeper. But Dean grits his teeth and keeps trying. "Get out. Make it work, dammit!" The little, metal door presses against his palm, threatening to chop his fingers off, and his skin cuts open in flaps as he fights. "Can't be trapped, GET OUT!"

Standing on the elevator, Michelle gapes as the two giant digits pop the door free and crush it. A crumpled metal ball drops to the floor as Dean hollers "Get out, get out!" over and over.

"Help is coming, Dean," she says as the elevator doors close. "I swear it."

Dean bellows in frustration at his useless exit, and he tugs his fingers back inside, slicing his fingers along the sharp edges of the tiny space. He doesn't care; it's just more pain. Desperate, timid, he tells himself, "Get out…" But the order drops into despair as the darkness sweeps in, painting his surroundings in pure nothing. The only sounds are his rasping breaths. He searches the dark for truth, feeling hollow depths and pressing walls at the same time.

Dean knows he's not alone. His muscles are tense and ready to fight or flee despite the unforgiving pain. "Where are you?" he asks. Laughter hits him from behind and is gone again, just like that. "Show yourselves!" he cries. Silver lightning strikes overhead, illuminating the area in its flicker. Demons everywhere. Huge. Smiling. Pointing. Whispering his name. Then the darkness drops back down and it's just his breathing once more.

_SHHOOOP! _Something sharp punctures his shoulder. Dean reaches his torn left fingers over to feel what is there, and they find another meat hook.

_Whoosh whoosh CHINK! _A heavy chain flies out and wraps around Dean's neck, pulling him back.

Silver lightning flickers. The demons are closer. Darkness again.

_Whoosh SHHOOOP chink clatter FSSSST jut_

They come from everywhere in the dark, hooks spearing into flesh, chains wrapping tight. Dean snarls incoherent threats, struggling to free himself, but the more he moves, the tighter the chains get and the deeper the hooks cut. Dean finally stills and drops the back of his head down, defeated.

The tears come. He lets them.

Lightning flickers again. The white-eyed demon is walking forward, clapping slow and condescending. The claps continue as the darkness resettles.

"Finally accepted it, I see," the nasal voice praises. "Good for you, Dean. You never were one for make-believe. Which is why I'm surprised you put yourself through all of this." It waves its arm around as silver flickers provide some light for a few seconds. "Lots of people dream in Hell. Dream of escape. Dream of relief. We can see right into them—it's our version of Must See TV down here. But your dreams," the demon chuckles, "they're different. Of course, you're pretty different yourself. I've never, ever encountered a soul so STUBBORN, it could keep itself in a dream as long as you have." The glowing white eyes pierce through the dark and look right into his. "I have to say, Dean, I'm impressed."

"Wasn't…a dream…" Dean growls, pulling at his restraints. "Cas got me out, I've been topside for months."

The demon laughs and pats Dean on the head. Dean's hair burns at the touch. "No, Dean. You've been here the whole time."

The lightning is back, and Dean sneers into the ruined faces of his would-be tormentors. "I've heard that before. I woke up then and I'm gonna wake up now."

"What, the thing with the oven? Dean, Dean, Dean…" The demon is shaking its head as the lightning flickers out. "That was you coming out of your little fantasy for a few seconds. You've been in and out like that for days now. It was awful—for us, I mean. It ruins the fun, not having you all there." It taps its index claw against Dean's forehead. "That's why we're all so thrilled to see you right back where you belong."

The lightning crashes, thunder slamming down on them, as the fires rise up and color the area in menacing hues. Dean looks down and finds himself lying on his back, the cold, rusty metal of the rack underneath his torn shirt and jeans. His body is a pincushion of hooks, as long chains with distant, unseen anchors hold him in place. There's more blood than skin, more tattered flesh than intact. The white-eyed demon is kneeling down next to him, while scores of other demons stand in wait behind it.

"Don't you fall for it, Dean," he tells himself. "Wake up. You're in a huge cell. You're a—"

"A giant!" the demon finishes with a laugh. "That was the best part!" The other demons laugh in agreement. Dean glares, and the demon gives a mock pout. "Oh come on, Dean. You can't honestly believe you're over 60 feet tall. That would mean we're all huge, me, all of them…" it motions to the other demons behind him.

Dean just shuts his eyes, telling himself to wake up. The demon looks down at him and sighs. "Stubborn, just like your daddy. So be it." It rests its hand on the giant meat hook in Dean's abdomen as it moves from kneeling to sitting, enjoying Dean's hiss of pain. "Let's look at the two scenarios from a logical standpoint, shall we? You tell me what makes more sense: that an angel got you out, took you upstairs, reunited you with your brother, and after some typical wacky Winchester adventures, you turned into a giant? Or," the demon leans in close, putrid breath rotting Dean's nostrils, "that you've been in Hell the whole time, dreaming about all of the above as a way to escape what you're going through down here?"

Dean doesn't answer. The demon smiles. "Think about it, Dean. Invoke Yoda and 'trust your feelings.' What does your gut tell you?" It rattles the hook in Dean's stomach again, grinning as Dean screams. "Pain is real, Dean. You DO feel this, right?" It pulls at the chain around Dean's neck with one claw and digs the shoulder hook in deeper with the other, drinking in Dean's shrieks as nectar. "And don't try and tell me the pain is from growing, like dear Sammy and Uncle Bobby told you. You were just translating your pain into your dream…blending it into your happy reality." The demon chuckles, adding, "Funny how even in your dreams, you let yourself get hurt. Pathetic, really."

Dean glares daggers at the demon. "Fuck. You."

"But I'm telling you the truth!" the demon insists with yet another smile. "Angels don't exist—you know it, and I know it. And honestly, Dean, even if they did, WHY would one ever come down here and save YOU? You're not important. You were nothing when you were alive, which makes you less than nothing now."

Dean shuts his eyes and thrashes his limbs, telling the demon to "shut your fucking trap" as the hooks deepen their grip on him.

"I suppose that's why you became a giant," the demon muses. "Makes sense, from a psychological viewpoint. You made yourself the biggest man in town because you've always thought so little of yourself." It tsks Dean as it shakes its head. "Sad when the truth hits home. Well, sad for you, anyway. It's Miller Time for us."

The demon lifts a finger as a signal, and lightning strikes directly into Dean's heart. Soul and body scream as the electric charge surges through every hook, burning through muscle, bone, and nerve as it sizzles into the chains and sparks out of sight. The skin around the biggest hooks chars and flecks off, adding to the thick layers of ash on the ground. Blood burbles up the back of Dean's throat, choking his cries into gargles. He retches at the taste and the pain, spitting up blood all over his face. Gasping for air, bloodied drool slipping out the corner of his mouth, Dean looks up at the demon and glares, defiant to the end. The demon stands up and beholds Dean's destroyed form.

"Good to have you back, Dean."

Another agonizing surge hits Dean's heart, gripping it tight and making it burn for release. "NO!" Dean wails, trying to brace for what's coming, but it hits him all the same: blinding pain, everywhere, all at once. Dean's body trembles and rolls over, chains pulling with and against him and keeping him from going flat on his belly. Hanging there, he feels the demon slide its claws along his arm.

"Not enjoying the rude awakening?" it clucks. "You brought this on yourself, Dean."

Dean turns his face to the floor and smacks his forehead against it. "Stop it, stop it, STOP it," he says to himself, to the demon, to the pain—everything. Dean pulls his arms out and cranes his neck, groaning as he tries to stretch himself free, but the chains hold tight. The demon snakes its fingers around a chain and rolls Dean back onto his side.

"I'll be back to check on you later," the demon promises with a smile. Then he turns to leave.

Dean tilts his head up, fighting against the chain around his neck. "WHY am I back on the rack?!" he yells. The demon looks back over his shoulder. "I did everything you wanted, you fucking bastard," Dean spits. "I did EVERYthing!"

"Yes, you were following orders," the demon agrees. "Coming along nicely, in fact. But that was before you embarked on your little dream voyage. Now that you're back, we thought we'd start you over from the beginning. It's the least we could do for our favorite prisoner."

The demon walks away without another word, and Dean's fury erupts in a war cry. Again he struggles to free himself, but he feels weary—down before the count even began. Breathing hard, he gives up for the moment and turns his face to the side, away from his useless and bloody body.

Then he sees Sam. Sam is staring at him. Sam is in Hell with him.

_No. It's not Sam. You know it isn't Sam._

But even though he knows better, Dean can't look away. His brother is tiny, just like in his dream, and he's standing right there, not a foot in front of his face.

"Dean?" the little man asks, creeping forward. Dean watches him closely, waiting for whatever 'tell' will inevitably give away the demon in disguise. 'Sam' puts his hands up in a 'calm down' manner. "It's all right. We're gonna get you out of those chains, I promise, but first you have to calm down."

Dean shuts his eyes and utters a small "No" to the imposter.

"Open your eyes, Dean," the painfully familiar voice tells him. "Keep them on me. Focus."

_Yeah, that's just what you want, isn't it, you son of a bitch… _Dean's eyelids open and he glares him. "Not SAM." He throws his left hand out to grab the little man, but a chain and hook keep him from reaching him. His fingers stop just short of his prize, and he wilts as 'Sam' looks upon the shredded fingers with pity. The little hand reaches out, and Dean flinches and pulls his hand back.

"Not falling for it again," Dean hisses at 'Sam.' "You HEAR ME YOU FUCKERS?" Dean curls his hand into a fist and thumps it on the ground, knocking 'Sam' over. Dean's face is stone as the little bastard gets to his feet. "Not again," Dean repeats, bringing his hand up to wipe away the tears on his face. "Not again. Not Sammy. NEVER Sammy."

Dean gradually rolls onto his other side, chains jingling and twisting and chafing as he moves.

"Where do you think you're going?" the demon asks. It kicks Dean hard in the shoulder hook, and Dean grunts as his back slams down on the rack. The chains tighten again, and fresh tears stream out of his eyes and into his open mouth as he screams in silence. A different voice screams at the same time, but Dean doesn't look. It's just another soul in Hell. They all scream here.

Owen screams until he's hoarse, then stumbles backwards, both hands pressing the sides of his head. Sam runs up to him, but Owen backs away. "NO! Don't touch me. You'll see, you'll SEE!"

"See what?" Bobby asks. Owen shakes his head, unable to answer. He trips over his own feet, and Sam catches him before he drops.

Instantly, the room disappears from Sam's eyes. His head pushes past migraine and into agony as a vision slams into him. The picture is sharp and clear: the bloody remains of someone barely alive, giant hooks and chains binding bloody limbs in a very dark place. Heat and smoke scorch Sam's lungs with every sharp intake of breath, while cold, unforgiving metal gouges his back, large, jagged bolts lodged deep within his spine. The picture jerks to the side and focuses on demons, black and fluid as smoke but sporting monstrous faces and long claws for fingers. One with white eyes approaches. The scene shifts up to the endless space above, lightning flickering on thousands of figures in chains, then to the right, where a river of molten lava carries charred, melting, _screaming_ bodies into a fiery hole.

Fear clutches Sam's heart, and thoughts that are not his own run rampant through his mind. _It's happening again oh God I can't do this again It's happening oh FUCK any second now Please you can't Not again not AGAIN_

_Dean? _Sam both thinks and realizes. A third voice comes into his head, just as pained as Dean's.

_It's what he's seeing, _Owen tells him. _What he's feeling._

_Owen…_ Sam gawks at his Dean's damaged body, feeling every ounce of his brother's hurt and horror. Sam fights the overwhelming need to vomit and holds on. _Is this a memory or a hallucination?_

Owen sends regret through their mental connection and replies, _It's both._

Their view shifts as Dean's eyes search around the area again, hoping to find anything to help him escape. There's nothing. The white-eyed demon steps up to him and kneels down over his face.

_Dean Winchester, _it hails, a smile crackling out of acidic skin and protruding skull fragments. _We've been waiting a very long time for you._

Something flashes before Sam and Owen—too fast to catch, but they feel it all the same. Pain. Absolute, inhuman pain. Owen starts to pass out, but Sam sends him a mental slap. _NO! We have to stay and help him wake up!_

_Can't, Sam…too much…_

The image flashes again, quick as a subliminal message: Chains and pain. Utter dread.

_Not again not again not again_

Every part of Dean, physical and metaphysical, quakes as the demon holds up a finger.

_Not again not AGAIN please!_

The demon's anticipation feeds off Dean's fear. _It's only right we give you a proper welcome for such an honored guest, _it tells him.

Then he flips his finger down.

Every chain and hook pulls at once. Dean is torn apart like a slab of tender meat, limbs ripping out of their joints, ribs cracking open as bony jaws, organs spilling into the ash and metal underneath. Dean's head, hands, and feet remain intact, resting above their respective chains. His eyes stare down at his still-beating heart, hanging from an artery, and then follow the length of his spinal cord, blood-soaked bolts still clamping it to the rack. The pain is so massive that he can't understand it. It just IS. Like it's always been there, and he's always been this broken. His body reacts in the only way it still can: he cries. He cries and cries and cries, with the pain, for the pain, because of the pain.

His two onlookers cry along with him, until Owen gently blacks out, and Sam is torn from his brother's mind and back to the floor of the giant cell. Michelle is checking over Owen, and Bobby is shaking Sam by his shoulders.

"SAM! Talk to me, boy!" Bobby falls still when Sam blinks at him, clarity behind those tears. "Sam? Hey." He steadies Sam's back with one of his arms. "You all right? What happened?"

Sam can't speak. His own body is racked with ache as much as sympathy and guilt. In his memory, the chains pull again and again, making Dean scream like Sam has never heard him scream before—and never wants to again. The tears slip down his face, and Sam is brought into Bobby's arms and hugged tight. Bobby doesn't say a word, just hugs him. It brings Sam little comfort. He looks over at Dean, still chained up and helpless in the middle of the floor. Sam is struck dumb with the reality of it all.

_Is this what you see when you sleep? _he thinks to his brother. _Is this what you saw in the U-Haul, at the warehouse…everywhere? _Sam shuts his eyes, already knowing the answer: yes Dean sees this, and who knows what else. No wonder why he doesn't want to sleep, and why he suddenly hates being tied up or confined anywhere. "I didn't know," Sam whispers into Bobby's shoulder, staring at his big brother all the while. _I'm so sorry, Dean. I didn't KNOW._

Dean's heart beats louder, faster, sending a pulse through the ground under their feet. "He's starting to panic again," Michelle announces. "We have to get him calm, NOW. His heart won't survive another attack."

Sam's imagination runs wild, picturing Dean suffering the most horrific torture, and knowing he isn't even close to what really happened. "Sam," Bobby says, gently pushing the young man out of the hug. The wretched look on Sam's face nearly shatters Bobby's resolve, but he keeps his eyes locked on Sam's all the same. "What did you see?"

Sam shakes his head back and forth in a daze. "He's in so much pain, Bobby…"

"I know, kid."

The hazel eyes sharpen into a stare. "No. You don't. You didn't see…" Sam puts his hand over his heart as he pictures Dean's hanging there, beating without a body. "Didn't _feel_…" Sam's face falls as the reality overwhelms him. "He told me on the pier that he remembered, but I didn't…" His head shakes again of its own volition, back and forth, eyes vacant as he thinks back. Bobby puts a hand on either side of Sam's head and holds him still.

"What's Dean remember? Sam?

Sam's gaze falls back on Bobby's worried eyes. "Hell," he replies, the word dropping as a heavy weight between them. Bobby is so stunned that he has to step back, face losing color as the truth hits him. "He remembers Hell. All of it. Everything." Behind him, Dean whimpers something, chains rattling as his body begins to shake again. Sam turns around and looks at him. "I saw one memory, Bobby," Sam mumbles, emotions slurring his words together. "One. And it was…Dean…he…" Sam's jaw quivers, unable to convey everything he's feeling. Bobby joins him at his side and gives Sam a kind look, letting him know it's okay not to talk. Then he straightens his trucker's cap and peers up at Dean.

"Neither one of us was able to keep him outta the pit," Bobby mutters. "Couldn't help him while he was down there, either." He turns to face Sam. "But we can help him now. Get him out of the Hell up here," he taps on his temple. Sam straightens up a little as purpose crosses his face, and Bobby glances back at Dean. "You know you're the only one he'll listen to." Sam swallows and nods, and Bobby pats him on the back. "Go on, son. Talk to Dean. Bring him back to us."

Sam nods again and, taking a deep breath to steady himself, walks over to Dean, ducking under big, taut chains along the way. He gets to the side of Dean's face and stops by his ear. He doesn't know where to begin. All he wants to do is apologize, over and over, until Dean understands just how sorry Sam is for everything his big brother went through. Instead, he clears his throat and leans in close to the ear that's as big as he is.

"Wake up, Dean," Sam says, fighting off more tears. "You're not in Hell anymore, I promise. You're back. You're here, with me."

There's a pause, and Sam backs up to look at Dean's face. The large eyes flash open, but they don't look at him.

"Go away," is all that Dean replies.

"No. I'm staying right here, right by your side. You'd do the same for me." The big head turns now, red, irritated eyes studying Sam. Sam forces a smile. "It's me, Dean, I swear."

"Course you do," Dean grunts. "You always do."

Sam's forehead wrinkles. "What are you—"

"Just stop it," Dean whispers, water leaking back into his voice. "Chop my dick off, burn my eyes out, whatever floats your damn boat. Just don't use his face…" Dean swallows hard when 'Sam' doesn't budge.

"You're not in Hell, Dean," Sam says again. "You've been out for months."

"Liar," Dean whimpers.

"I'm telling you the truth!"

Dean just shakes his head no. "Don't be him," he pleads. "Anyone but him…please…"

The face turns back to the ceiling, eyes falling shut once more. His body jolts like its being shocked, but Dean just takes it without a sound this time. Sam jumps up and grabs the short sleeve of Dean's grey tee, hauling himself up. The huge, racing heart pounds under Sam's boots as he gets to Dean's chest. He makes his way around the sharp barriers of hooks and stops near Dean's chin. Dean's eyes open again before Sam says a word. He sighs, and it sounds so final to Sam. Dean is giving up before his eyes.

"Why don't you just kill me?" Dean asks in a very small voice. The sadness in the question rattles Sam to the core. "Get it over with," Dean coaxes, "you know you want to. Just don't…make me go through this again. Don't make me look at his face…"

"Dean…" Sam reaches out to pat Dean's chin, but Dean picks him up and holds him in his right hand, fingers curled tightly around the little body. Sam squirms to free himself, but Dean holds him tight, bringing him close to his face before his chains pull tight.

"You…are not…my brother," Dean mutters in a low, hoarse voice, glaring at the little hazel eyes with what little remaining inner strength he has left. "This game ends now." He squeezes 'Sam' even more, making it hard for Sam to breathe. But Sam holds his stare.

"If I'm…not him," Sam wheezes, "then why…not…kill me…right now?"

Dean's eyes fill with anger, and he keeps squeezing, adopts a fierce look on his face, tries to summon up the hatred…and fails. He loosens his grip but doesn't let go of the little man. Sam keeps very still, letting Dean look at him…REALLY look at him. _Come on Dean…it's me, you know it is. _Sam sees a spark of recognition in those big green eyes, and he waits for Dean to call him "Sammy" and smile. But Dean doesn't. The spark dies out, and Dean brings his hand down to his chest. Sam doesn't hop off. Dean's closes his eyes.

"Leave me alone," he begs. His entire body cringes and Dean wails through clenched jaws, fresh tears rolling down his eyes as he shakes all over. Sam just stares, wishing he could take the pain away. He looks down at Bobby, but his face is clouded. He shakes his head at Sam, not knowing what to do, either.

"Don't give up Sam," says Michelle, and Sam looks down at her. "You're getting to him. He's already calmed down, but the chains won't release him until his blood pressure is below 140."

_But he doesn't think I'm me, _Sam thinks in despair. _How can I get him to listen to me if he doesn't even believe I'm me? _He looks around the room, praying for inspiration. Bobby is tending to Owen, who still hasn't come around. _Bobby would tell him the same thing I did. Dean probably won't listen to him, either…_ Sam looks at Michelle again. _And Michelle came to us for help when she couldn't help Dean, so she's out as well. _Sam's eyes reach the Impala. _Maybe something in the car… _His eyes light up. _The car!_

Sam jumps off Dean's palm and onto his chest. "Dean, look over there." His brother keeps his eyes shut, so Sam jumps again. "Your car, Dean! It's right over there!"

Dean utters a barely audible "So?"

"SO, the Impala wasn't in Hell!"

Dean's unending negative thoughts give pause as those words sink in. He wracks his brain for memories of the Impala. There are thousands, of course, but not one of them includes hellfire.

"If your car is right here, and your car was never in Hell, then YOU can't be in Hell either!" Sam declares. "Just look, Dean, please! It's really there, I swear!"

Dean gives the little man a tired glare. "Just like you swear that you're my brother?" His head rolls the wrong way, and Sam stomps his feet.

"Dammit, Dean, give it a try! PLEASE! Just—!"

The car's horn blares out, and all eyes go to the source of the sound. A young boy has appeared behind the wheel. He opens the door (which promptly hangs from its only fixed hinge) and looks out at the giant.

"She's right here, Dean!" Tyler shouts. "She misses you!" He keeps honking, little blasts of familiar, welcome noise that start to chip away at the darkness surrounding Dean.

_My baby's calling me, _he marvels. _How? She isn't down here…_ Dean rolls a little on his side and looks at the corner of the room. It's engulfed in flame. The horn honks again, and Dean squints, straining to see shining black metal.

"She's there, Dean," Sam promises, holding on to the fabric of Dean's shirt. "You just have to let yourself see."

A double-honk seems to blow a small hole in the fire wall. Dean sees a flash of chrome, and his eyelids lift. Sam beams as his brother's expression relaxes out of its painful scowl and adopts a look of awe.

"I don't…I don't believe it," Dean breathes as more of the car comes into view. Little by little, the fire dies down and reveals his gorgeous Impala, intact and in person.

_It's true,_ he realizes, blinking hard to clear his vision. _She's really there. Here. She's here. I'M here…not in Hell. I'm here. I'm Safe._

With a long, deep breath, Dean collapses back and relaxes into his relief. One by one, the chains fall slack and drop to the floor. Sam steps forward, smiling and more than relieved when Dean's eyes find him and recognize him.

"Sammy? What…" Dean frowns when he sees his brother's red eyes. He's been crying. Dean sits up and gently picks up Sam, who slides onto Dean's fingertips and thumb. "What's wrong?" Dean asks, looking him over.

Still smiling, Sam shakes his head. "Nothing, man. I'm just really glad you're back."

"Back." Dean scans his surroundings. Hell is gone, replaced by the toothpaste-colored walls of his cell. Tyler jumps out of the car and bounds over to Meesh, who is standing by Owen and Bobby. Dean does a double-take when he sees his old friend. "Bobby? What are you doing here? How…"

"I brought them here," Michelle tells him. "I knew only your brother would be able to get through to you, and Bobby and Owen were locked up with him, so I busted them all out and here we are." She folds her arms. "You mind telling me what the hell just happened?"

Dean jolts at the word 'hell,' and he frowns at himself. _It's just a word, jackass. You say it yourself all the time. Hell! _His body jolts again and settles into trembling. Flummoxed and feeling weak, he looks at Sam, who is still sitting on Dean's fingers. The Nostrils of Concern are out in full force, puppy-dog eyes and hunched shoulders only adding more weight to whatever Sam is feeling. Sam clears his throat.

"You had a flashback, Dean," Sam tells him with regret. "You nearly died."

Dean gulps as his eyes drift to the floor. _Flashback… _HURT and DARK and FIRE flash inside him, followed by Sam's frown of worry and the demon's grin of delight. Both realities crash into each other as raging rivers of images. _Please don't let it be true, _he begs whoever is listening. As usual, his plea goes unheard: Dean glances at each of the little people in turn, sees their fear mixed with pity, and knows the truth.

They know. They _saw._

Embarrassment and anger, panic and numbness, anxiety and resolve—the different extremes seesaw through him at once, and the walls rebuild themselves double thick to hold it all inside. Dean face goes blank as he sets Sam down on the floor.

"Dean? You all right?"

Dean doesn't answer, just turns his attention to the hooks still strewn in and out of his body. They're not nearly as big as the ones in Hell, but they hurt just the same. Biting the inside of his cheek, he pulls the hook out of his stomach first, fighting off a cringe at the sound and sensation.

"Let me help you with those," Michelle offers as she steps forward, but Dean grunts and pushes her away. Then he gets back to hook pulling. Each hook holds tight, not giving up its hold without taking some of Dean with it, but Dean doesn't make a sound. The hooks speak for him as they clang on the floor, some dropped gently, others thrown hard.

Once he's done, he just sits, shoulders hunched, chin slightly dropped. The big green eyes drift between his hands and the bloody hooks. Then they shut. He breathes. Once. Twice. His eyes blink open. He stands up. He turns his back to everyone.

"Shower," Dean asks, voice coarse. No one speaks, so Dean glances over his shoulder and down at Michelle. "Tell me there's a shower in here."

Michelle nods and points. "Y-yes, it's…the button's next to the sink."

Dean turns away again and pulls his grey shirt off. Everyone feels sick as they look at the bruises, burns, and open wounds through his back and torso. Dean presses the button, and a huge door slides open next to the sink. He gives them all one last look, pain in his eyes as plain as his pale face, before he disappears into the shower room.

The door slides shut, and everything is quiet.


	13. Dead End Junction

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal** (cont.)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Thank you so much for all the reviews! I'm so terribly sorry for the extremely long delay this time around. Will work extra hard to get another chapter out much, much sooner. Thanks as always to Katiki for the awesome beta work, and further thanks to muckers for letting me bounce a few ideas off of her.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Dead End Junction**

Dean feels so damn emo right now, he'd kick his own ass if he wasn't already in a world of hurt.

He's sitting on the floor of the shower, knees up and head back, as water cascades down in front of him, pounding at his toes before circling the drain. He took a quick shower—painfully quick, since the pressure of the water beat at his wounds instead of soothing them. But he's clean from head to toe, save for a few of the deeper, still-bleeding cuts and the flowerbed of purple and black bruises all over his body. He knows he's supposed to get out and do the usual: towel dry the hair, shave, brush his teeth, deodorize, style the hair to perfection, all of that. He also knows that this tiny shower alcove has a cabinet with all of the manly necessities he needs. It's right over there, next to his gigantic bath towel.

He just can't bring himself to get out of the shower and on with his day. Not after what happened. Not when he knows he can't seek out his Three A's of Coping: Alcohol, Alone Time, and Anonymity. Not now, when he's feeling so low.

_Low. _Dean shakes his head at the thought. _Like a giant can ever be low._ He breathes in some of the hot steam and shuts his eyes. He knows he's making up excuses to stay in here and hide. He doesn't want to face them.

_They saw, they KNOW._

He doesn't want to see them feeling sorry for him.

_I'm FINE, dammit._

And he especially doesn't want to talk to them. Not even Sam. Just knowing that he had to see Dean with all his walls down, see how weak and stupid his big brother really is underneath that tough skin… _He'll never look at me the same way again, _Dean thinks, ashamed of himself. _And I don't blame him. Not one damn bit._

His mood isn't helped by the ongoing argument outside. His hearing has grown with him, and even with the shower running, Dean can still pick up quite a bit of the heated conversation. Sam is yelling again: "—uses hooks and chains for Chrissake? I thought you wanted to help him, not BUTCHER him!"

Meesh is defensive. "I didn't know about the hooks! They always used shackles and clips—I'm just as horrified by these torture methods as you are!"

And Bobby steps in with his crotchety peacemaking. "ENOUGH. You two can holler till ya wake the dead—it won't solve anything."

_Plus then we'll have zombies on our hands, _Dean quips in his mind. Then he goes back to eavesdropping. Bobby is talking in a calm voice, so Dean can't make out his words, but he knows Bobby well enough to know what he's doing: getting people off the argument and back to the problem. _Only problem is, I'M the problem. _And with that one realization, Dean's momentary good mood drops again. His ears pick up on Bobby asking if Meesh wants help stitching up Dean's giant wounds.

"He won't need stitches," Meesh replies. "The hooks were coated with a healing resin. It's the same substance I used to heal his skin when he was first brought in, covered in lacerations."

"I thought you didn't know about the hooks," Sam challenges. Dean can picture his little brother walking over to Meesh and towering over her, glaring for an answer. He shakes his head. _Always gotta make yourself look big, don'tcha Sammy… _But he also knows Meesh well enough by now—she'll stand her ground and glare right back.

"I didn't know they were in the cell," she growls, "but past giants have escaped and they were recaptured using those awful hooks. They were always coated with resin. I have no reason to believe that these won't be as well. The Lycan enzyme in the resin—"

"LYCAN?" Dean repeats. Bobby and Sam shout the same word at the same time.

"You gave him werewolf blood?!" Sam snarls.

"Yes, Sam, I've given him werewolf blood because I want him to suffer even more," she snaps back. "NO, Dean was NOT given werewolf blood! We isolated the enzyme from Lycan cells that allows them to heal so quickly. Then we developed it into a healing resin for use on all of our patients. I'll bet half of Dean's cuts are already healed or healing as we speak."

Dean checks himself over, and sure enough, almost all of the cuts have sealed up and disappeared. Only the really deep holes through his abdomen, shoulder, and back are still open, but the blood has already clotted and the tissue has started to reform. Dean can't help but be impressed. _Now if only those painkillers worked…_ His body feels heavier than ever, pain stuffed into every last inch of him. The dizziness is gone from his head, but the headache remains, a constant, throbbing reminder of how shitty everything's turned out to be. He thinks back to when he first started growing—how fun it was to be a little taller. Looking down at his gargantuan, pruny fingers now, those early days seem like a lifetime ago.

Sighing, he reaches up and shuts off the shower. He still doesn't want to see them or talk about what happened, but he knows he'll have to face the music eventually. _Better do it now, before they think I've fallen and I can't get up, _he thinks with disgust. He takes his time standing up, all limbs very stiff and tender, and as he opens the door, the argument outside picks up again.

"We can't help Dean until we know what we're up against," Bobby argues.

"And I can't help you help him until I know why Dean is suffering from such awful attacks," Meesh answers. "What happened to him to have such violent bouts of PTSD?"

_You don't want to know, _Dean thinks at Meesh as he dries himself off in the alcove. Bobby or Sam must mumble the same, because Meesh cuts in again with pleas to talk to her.

"What if it happens again? What if we can't stop it in time? He could die!"

"He nearly did, thanks to those damn hooks," Sam bellows. "Dean can't handle being restrained anymore—I TOLD you that."

"Dean can't handle another heart attack either! He may be huge, but he's more vulnerable than ever!"

"And while you two keep fighting, he's just gonna keep hurting," Bobby yells above both of them. "Kid's been carrying the world on his shoulders all his life, and now this giant problem's dropped Mars on top of it. He ain't strong enough to handle this on his own."

All of their words sink in, as sharp and hurtful as the hooks themselves. _So that's what they really think of me. Good to know, I guess. Don't have to worry about letting them down when they already think I'm so fucking pathetic._

Glad the mirror is foggy so he doesn't have to look at himself, Dean turns to slip on his clothes—only to discover that they're gone. Instead, a pair of white boxers, a white t-shirt, and a pair of grey, drawstring pants are folded on the floor in the corner, though his amulet, ring, watch, and wallet still rest right where he left them. He gets dressed, easing the soft fabric over his wounds. Outside, Meesh is still insisting that Dean's episode can't be ignored, and Bobby tells her that "one freak-out in two months ain't the end of the world." Dean picks up the amulet just as Sam shoves the verbal knife into Dean and twists it with the following words:

"No, Bobby, that's just it. Dean…he's been bad the whole time! Ever since he got back, he's just…he isn't Dean anymore. Sometimes…well, a lot of the time…I feel like a stranger's sitting next to me, driving Dean's car. He still likes all the things Dean did, but everything else…it's muted, y'know? Like he's a shell of himself. God, I wish they had let me trade places with him so I wouldn't have to see how hurt he is, or deal with what he's become…"

Sam jumps as a metallic _clank!_ sounds out from the shower alcove. Sam looks at Michelle and Bobby, all of them realizing the water is no longer running.

"The answer is yes," Owen says, finally sitting up and out of his unconsciousness, "he heard every word. Heard most everything you've said the last five minutes, in fact."

The color drains from Sam's face as the alcove's door slides open. Dean steps out and gives Sam a glance. "Dean, I…" Dean looks away, and Sam swears, "I wasn't…you didn't hear the context! I didn't mean it like—"

Dean ignores him and all of them as he walks over to his cot and sits down. "Sorry I had to let the cat scramble out of the bag, Dean," Owen tells him. Then he turns his spectacles to the others. "And sorry I couldn't speak up earlier. Too much head trauma and too many feelings from you lot." He stands up and holds a hand to his head. "And I'm fine, by the way. Ta for asking."

A very uncomfortable silence sets in: everyone looking up at Dean, Dean only looking at his lap. "I've sent your clothes to be laundered," Michelle informs him. "They'll be back within the hour, clean and warm."

Dean doesn't say a word or even acknowledge that she spoke. "How you feelin', son?" Bobby tries next. Still not answering, Dean lifts his legs up and lies down on his back.

"Do you need anything?" Sam asks, still feeling just awful for what Dean heard him say. Dean doesn't respond. Sam walks closer and stares up at Dean's shoulder. "Dean…look at me. What I said back there…it's not what you think. I was only telling them that you've been having flashbacks ever since you got back. I know it doesn't excuse what I said, but…look, it just came out completely wrong. I'm sorry." Sam stares at that shoulder, wills Dean to yell at him, glare at him, anything. But Dean doesn't move an inch. Sam sighs and tries a different route. "Are you still in a lot of pain?"

"I can get more painkillers if you'd like," Michelle offers.

"NO PILLS." It's Tyler who answers, not Dean, and everyone looks back at him. The boy is back by the car, holding a wrench in one hand as he scowls at all of them. "They made Dean sick," Tyler tells them. "His neck got blotchy and he got hot an' shaky."

"Allergic reaction," Michelle murmurs, piecing it all together. "Delay of symptoms due to slow absorption rate…shit."

"I'm guessin' you didn't give him Tylenol," Bobby says, folding his arms.

Michelle looks back at him with guilt and confusion. "I don't understand it. No one has ever had an allergic reaction before—not even others that have been subjected to hydros venom. Look," she points to the kid, "Tyler was treated with the same painkillers when he was first brought in, and his broken arm healed right up. The pills contain a different sort of healing—"

"I thought you weren't there when Tyler was brought in," Dean interrupts with a mutter. Everyone looks up at him, but Dean is still lying on his back, his face out of their eyesight.

"I wasn't," Michelle replies. "I read his admission chart before I came down here." Sam and Bobby both look suspicious, and Michelle gets flustered. "I know how this all sounds, all right? But I swear, I'm just as in the dark as the rest of you. Tyler was bit by a hydros and he healed up fine. Dean was bit as well but he suffers. It makes no sense."

"Dean wasn't bit," Sam tells her, still eyeing her with distrust. "He was covered in a mixture of hydros venom and blood."

"We also believe he ingested some of the blood," Owen adds. "Hence why Dean is experiencing growth spurts instead of a constant swelling." Michelle gets a funny look on her face, and Owen frowns. "I'll have you know I'm an expert on this. I've already tried curing Dean, but the conventional method didn't work. Our only hope now is to find the hydros and extract its venom to make a cure. All you're doing here," he gestures wildly to the room, "with your sci-fi and so-called 'therapy,' is wasting valuable time that we COULD be using to help Dean get back to normal." Michelle drops her head, and Owen rolls his eyes. "What now?"

"I really wish you hadn't said any of that…"

Ten soldiers appear literally out of thin air, each of them dressed in their usual black but sporting egg-shaped helmets and a round, silver orb on their chests. The tiny door slides open, and Suit Guy steps in, wearing his douchebag sunglasses, as always. The soldiers keep their guns on Sam, Owen, and Bobby as Suit Guy walks up to them.

"Well done, doctor. Finally got them to admit the truth about our newest giant."

Michelle's head bows even lower from the weight of the glares now pointed at her. "May I be released from my contract now as we agreed, sir?" she mutters in question.

He smiles back and replies, "No."

Michelle stares at him, mouth falling open into a trembling gape. "You son of a BITCH." She spits in his face, right on those damn sunglasses. He turns and wipes them off on his shirt as he looks at the nearest soldier.

"Take them back to their holding room. Lock the doctor in with them."

The soldiers grab all of them while he's talking, holding them fast even as they all struggle. Sam even kicks one soldier in the groin, only to hurt himself: the man's uniform comes complete with a metal cup down there.

"What about the giant, sir?" asks one of the soldiers.

"Prepare the observation room and ready the tests."

"NO!" Michelle cries. "You promised you wouldn't hurt him. You promised you'd let them all go!"

"I also promised I'd let YOU go," Suit Guy reminds her. "And now I've changed my mind."

The soldiers herd their prisoners toward the door. Sam looks back at Dean's bed, and Suit Guy smiles. "Don't go looking to him for help. He can't move." Suit Guy holds up his left hand and points at his implant, which is currently flashing red. "Not until I press this. Till then, a chip in the back of his neck will block the brain's signals to his muscles, effectively paralyzing him." He turns his smile to Michelle, who is glaring pure death at him even as she starts to cry. "New protocol, my dear," he says, brushing a tear off her face. "Sorry we couldn't tell you about it."

She knees him in the groin. No cup in THAT suit. Suit Guy quickly recovers and leans into her ear. Sam is close enough to hear what he says:

"If you ever want to find Jeremy again, you'll fall in line NOW. Is that understood?"

Michelle doesn't answer. The soldiers march Owen, Sam, Bobby, and Michelle out of the room. Once they've gone, Suit Guy walks back to Dean's cot and looks up at him. Dean's face is to the side, completely blank. "I know you're in there, 19. Probably thinking about how you'll kill me before you escape." Suit Guy lifts his hand up and presses his implant. It stops flashing. "Well go ahead, big guy. Take your best shot."

Dean keeps his face blank but says, "You got me here. Big guinea pig in a tiny cage. Mazel Tov. Now let the others go." Suit Guy only folds his arms, looking a little amused. Dean frowns. "You can run all your damn tests on me, shoot me up with your drugs, make me run in a huge hamster wheel if you want. Just let them go."

"Nice to see you're a graduate of Cliché School." Suit Guy smiles as Dean rolls his eyes. "Come now, 19. You know I'm not about to release my leverage! We need your friends around to keep you agreeable. Especially that brother of yours…" Suit Guy chuckles. "What will we do to him while you're trapped in here and unable to help him?" He looks up at Dean again and sees the giant pulsing with rage. "Hit a sore spot, I see. Pity." He turns to leave. "I thought you'd be much harder to break."

A second later, there's a rush of wind, and Suit Guy finds himself being squeezed in Dean's fist. Dean stands up and holds the little asshole up to his eyelevel. "Too bad you'll break first." Dean squeezes harder, waiting to feel those tiny ribs breaking. "Game over, pal," Dean growls. "You're not going to hurt anyone ever again."

Suddenly, every muscle in Dean's body seizes up at once. He's frozen, forehead to little toe. His mind cries out as his giant body falls to his right, weighed by the still outstretched arm and fist. He smacks onto the floor, right shoulder and ear taking the brunt of the blow. Suit Guy easily pushes Dean's grasp open and climbs out. Then he walks along the length of Dean's arm until he's standing by his face.

"Consider this a reminder, 19. We are in control of you. Fall out of line again, and maybe we'll fit your brother with one of these chips."

_You fucking bastard! _Dean shouts in his mind. _Leave him alone!_ He tries to move any part of him, but nothing will respond. He's basically a giant mannequin. In front of his nose, Suit Guy smiles again. _What I wouldn't give to wipe that smug little grin off your face…_

"Aww, I'll bet you're thinking about getting free and killing me," Suit Guy chuckles, shaking his head. "So stubborn…" He looks upon Dean again and his smile disappears. "I'd think again, 19. If you kill me, this implant will automatically be set to lockdown mode. It'll fry your cerebellum, and you'll paralyze yourself for good." He hops down to the floor. "And as for escape, well, best of luck. You're in a facility 200 feet underground, and 95% of the hallways here are far too small for you to get through. I wouldn't bother trying." Suit Guy heads for the door. "No, 19, if I were you, I'd just be a good little giant and get comfortable. You're going to be here a long, long time." The tiny door slides open, and Suit Guy looks back at the frozen giant one last time. "I'll restore your mobility once I'm safely out of the room. Welcome to Hell."

He doesn't actually say Hell, but that's what Dean hears. His muscles seize up again, just like they did right before he fell, but now they relax and move freely. Dean rolls onto his back, feeling lower and more useless than ever.

_I've let them all down. AGAIN. Way to go, asshole._

"Dean!"

On the other side of the room, he hears Tyler sneak out of wherever he was hiding, followed by the soft taps of his tiny shoes as he runs up to him. He stops right by his face.

"Dean?" Tyler calls up to him. "What are we gonna do? How do we help 'em?" There's no reply. Tyler frowns. "C'mon Dean, you can save everybody, I know it! You're the hero!"

"No, I'm not," Dean murmurs, quiet and broken. "Not anymore."

Tyler tugs on Dean's shirt sleeve. "But Dean—"

"I'm sorry, Tyler." Dean sits up and, without looking at him, gently slides Tyler away. "Sorry I'm not the hero you want me to be."

Tyler watches Dean stand up and walk back to the bed. Tyler follows him and sits down on the floor in the cot's shadow, watching his huge, hurting friend and wishing he knew how to help him.

* * *

On a very crowded elevator, Sam, Owen, Bobby, and Michelle stand in the middle of six of the same guards that brought them out of Dean's cell. Sam keeps his eyes on the digital screen panel, which displays the floor's alpha-numeric title instead of indicating them by the normal floor buttons. _Not that anything about this place is normal, _Sam thinks, frustrated. His ire focuses on the small woman in front of him. _We trusted you. DEAN trusted you. You're a doctor! Aren't you supposed to be one of the good guys?!_

"So I see you've got the synch problem solved," Michelle says to her guard. The soldier doesn't say anything, so she nudges him in the shoulder. "Oh come on, Benji, how long did I work side by side with your team while you worked out all the kinks in your manipulators? Remember when only your top half reappeared, and I had to calm you down and assure you that everything below was right where it was supposed to be, even your—"

"Yeah, um…yes, ma'am," the soldier replies, blushing a bit.

"So the synch problem is solved?" Michelle repeats.

"New helmets," the soldier tells her. "Commander sends out a signal and we all disappear or reappear as one."

"But you still can't see each other while you're invisible..."

"No ma'am, fixed that too," boasts a different soldier. "My idea, in fact. Locator chip in each helmet lets us know where we all are, even when we're in clear mode."

"Now that's impressive," Michelle admits, smiling at her soldier boys. The elevator stops at last, and the prisoners are marched into the hallway. Michelle stays right by the friendly soldiers' sides. "So wait a minute: if you activate your manipulator orb, but you're not wearing a helmet, does that mean the others can't tell where you are?"

The first soldier nods. "You're completely off the grid."

Michelle nods as well. "Interesting." She slips two syringes out of her doctor's coat and stabs both soldiers in their thighs. As they pass out, the other four soldiers rush forward, and Bobby and Sam move in with their fists.

"Whose side are you on?" Bobby yells at Michelle as he kicks a soldier. Another lifts his gun to Bobby's face, but Michelle throws a right hook and knocks the man out cold.

"Yours, handsome," Michelle winks. Then her eyes bug out. "Duck!"

Another soldier swoops his meaty arm over their heads, and Sam is right there, hitting the man hard and fast as he shouts, "What, you double-cross us and now you're helping us again?"

"Wasn't a double-cross!" Michelle insists, jabbing her elbow into a soldier's chest. "They set me up!" A soldier grabs her from behind. "Said they'd finally let me go," she smacks the back of her head into the man's nose, "if I found out," then she knees him in the groin, "why Dean's a giant!" She kicks him there again, the soldier cries out, and Michelle wriggles free. Bobby grabs the man's gun off him.

"So why," he hits another soldier in the jaw with the butt of the gun, "didn't you up an' ask us right away?" Bobby's legs are kicked out from under him, and the gun slides to Michelle. She picks it up and points it at the soldier attacking Bobby.

"Because I knew what they'd do to Dean if they found out." The soldier's shoulder shifts, and Michelle cocks the gun and presses it to the back of his head. "And I'm not going to let another human being go through that ever again."

Another gun is pushed into Michelle's back, but Sam tackles him and pins the much-shorter man to the ground. "How do we know," Sam headbutts the man, "you're not lying to us," and knees him in the stomach, "right now?" he asks as he punches the guy in the head. Sam in turn gets grabbed by his shirt and hurled into the wall before Michelle can answer. Sam turns around and sees all four soldiers on their feet again. "Man these guys are scrappy…" he pants, looking at Bobby. Bobby nods, just as annoyed.

"Vampire adrenaline injections," Michelle informs them. "Yet another medical breakthrough."

The soldiers advance on them, and Sam and Bobby get ready for round two.

"_Gelynion cysg!"_

The strange words echo down the hallway, and all four men drop to the ground, sound asleep. Sam, Bobby, and Michelle turn around and see Owen standing eyes closed and with his arm stretched out into a point. He opens his eyes to their confusion. "Bit of old Welsh magic is all," he says, brushing his hands. They all frown, still confused. "What? You don't really think I've evaded these yobs all this time by my good looks alone…?" They all give a look of 'okaaaaaay', and Owen steps forward and joins them. "So what now?"

"We have to spring Dean before they do any tests," Michelle replies. "And we don't have much time. They'll have the room ready in the next hour."

"How?" Bobby asks. "Hate t' state the obvious, but it's not like we can sneak him out when he's that big."

"If I had my potions kit I could shrink him," Owen muses. "But we'd have to have him out in under five minutes."

Michelle shakes her head. "We won't even get to the front gate in five minutes. Plus that chip they implanted in him will give him away once we're out of his cell. Dammit, I knew they were sadistic, but to paralyze someone…" She bites her lip and looks down. Everyone falls silent, frustrated by their lack of options. A moment later, Michelle speaks up again. "There is one way…but it's risky."

Bobby shrugs. "Like that makes a difference at this point. What's the plan?"

An alarm sounds, and they look up at a flashing light. "No time," Michelle says. "Owen, that kit of yours—do you have anything in there that could make Dean sleep?"

"Kip, slumber, or coma?"

"How about all three?"

"Yeah, absolutely."

"All right. The three of us will go find your kit and get some answers about that chip. Sam, you need to get to Dean, make sure he doesn't freak out again." Sam doesn't reply, so Michelle looks right at him. The tall, young man stares back at her. "Sam? What's wrong?"

"He doesn't trust you yet," Bobby answers for him, then looks into Sam's narrowed, hazel eyes. "Come on, boy, I think it's safe to say she's on our side, speshly after that brawl. Speakin' of which," Bobby glances at Michelle, "where'd you learn to fight like that?"

Michelle smiles. "Army brat. Been picking fights with soldier boys as long as I can remember." Bobby smiles back. Michelle turns her eyes back to Sam's and sighs. "You're right to be suspicious, Sam. There's a lot more going on here than you know, but we don't have time to go into it now. And when we do talk about it, I want Dean to be there. He deserves to know everything." Michelle then leans over and removes the silver orb from one of the sleeping soldiers. "Here," she offers it to Sam. "Take this. Find your brother. Keep him safe."

She turns to leave when she hears Sam say, "No." She turns back, and Sam is standing over her. He licks his lips and asks, cold and calm, "Who's Jeremy?" Michelle's eyes blow wide, and Sam says, "I overheard what the head honcho said to you when we were being led out of the room. Tell me why Jeremy's wellbeing is more important than my brother's?"

"I never said it was." Michelle's lip trembles, but her eyes focus and hold Sam with a strong gaze. "And Jeremy…Jeremy is my son."

They hear boots stampeding toward them, and Michelle pushes the orb onto Sam's chest. "Hope you were paying attention in the elevator…" She twists the top of the orb, and Sam instantly disappears. Bobby and Owen gape at the 'empty' space, looking right at Sam but not knowing it, before Michelle grabs them each by a hand. "Hurry!" They duck down a crossing corridor.

Sam just stands there, looking down at his invisible body—or rather, trying to SEE his invisible body, which is impossible since it's not there. _Don't be stupid, _he tells himself, trying not to freak out, _it's still THERE. It's just invisible. _But to be sure, he lifts his hand and smoothes his fingers over his belly. He feels his shirt at once. It's disorienting, not seeing anything move, but reassuring when he finds something in the nothing. His fingers go up and discover the silver orb stuck on the middle of his chest. He turns the top just a little, and his body fades in just that much. He turns it back, and he's completely clear. Sam smiles and thinks of how much Dean would love this new toy.

_Dean. _Sam turns to run, but about 30 soldiers run in first. They file two by two into the corridor, and Sam presses his back against the wall before they knock into him and discover their invisible spy. Some surround the six soldiers on the floor, others fan out into other corridors. Sam hears the leader order a few down to the giant's cell, and Sam slips into the elevator with them.

"So what's the plan?" asks one of the men. "Go in and silence the freak or what?"

"No," says another. "I'm not setting foot in that room. None of us are. We're just going to stand guard and make sure no one goes in."

The soldier to his right smirks. "Don't tell me you're afraid of this guy, Chief…"

"Hell yeah I'm afraid of him!" Chief glares at all the men to show he's serious. "He's dangerous. Already hurt over twenty troops on the Recovery Team, took down a whole building, outran our Humvee squad…" He shakes his head and turns to face the doors again. "It's a miracle we captured him at all."

"Plus the guy's a giant nutcase," mutters the smartass.

"Olsen…"

"What? He is! Thinks demons are after him. Dumbass."

Still invisible, Sam fumes behind them but keeps his fists by his side. He knows he can't help Dean if he gets captured.

"That's bullshit," says the remaining soldier. "No way would they want some jumbo schizo in the Program."

"Sure they would," Olsen answers. "He's huge and crazy. Think of what happens if they let Mr. Huge And Crazy out against a hostile. Dude's a mindless killing machine—just what the higher ups want, y'know? All force, no fear. He already hurt his own brother—"

"I heard he ate him."

"Ugh, really?"

"Yeah, and that little kid we locked in there with him is missing, too. Three guesses what happened to him, and the first two don't count."

"ENOUGH," Chief barks. "We have our orders."

"Yeah, watch the door and protect him when we should just ice him already!" Olsen argues. "Not like anyone's gonna miss a fucking monster like him—"

_SLAM! _Olsen smacks face-first into the floor readout screen. Nose gushing red, he whirls around to face his attacker, only to have Chief fly into him and knock them both into the wall. Olsen drops out cold, and Chief falls on top of him. The other two soldiers knock heads and collapse. Chief tries to get up, but something belts him in the mouth and his head connects hard with Olsen's knee. The elevator arrives at its floor, and as the doors open, Chief swears he hears someone murmur, "You're the monsters" just before he loses consciousness.

Sam steps out into the giant hallway and discovers two other soldiers guarding the door. He starts walking toward them, intent on giving them the same Beat Down treatment as their comrades, when a large door opens behind him. Sam turns around and finds a huge, flat cart rolling toward him, the two people pushing it talking about their mornings. Atop the cart, folded and smelling Downy fresh, are Dean's enormous clothes. Sam decides to go the smuggling route instead of the direct approach, so, sneaking over to the front of the cart (only to remember he's invisible and doesn't HAVE to sneak), Sam jumps and pulls himself up by grabbing onto the denim of Dean's jeans. No one, not the laundry people or the guards they pass by, notices the little bump crawling between the folds of grey and blue fabric…

* * *

Tyler is trying to finish fixing the car door—he REALLY is. But he keeps looking over at Dean, wishing he knew what to do. Tyler kept asking if Dean was okay, but Dean never answered. His big friend is sleeping now, or at least, Tyler's pretty sure he is, so he gets back to work on the car. If he can't help Dean, at least he can help Dean's baby.

Just then, the long section of the wall opens up, and Tyler is elated. "Dean, it's food time! Wake up!" But instead of a food tray, something different comes through the opening: a giant platform, fabric piled on top. Fat wheels as tall as Tyler glide the cart along the floor, and the sleeve of Dean's big blue shirt gently drops to the side of the platform, brushing over Tyler as the wheels carry it on. Tyler waits for the cart to pass to see who is pushing it, but no one is; an antenna is sticking out the back instead. The cart drives itself back to where Dean took a shower. It stops in the middle of the room.

"Your clothes are back," Tyler calls, running up to the cart. "See? Look!" He tries pulling on the sleeve of the shirt so he can take it in and show Dean, but it won't budge. Not giving up, he climbs up onto the clothing mountain…only to sink down into the warm, soft fabric like he's in the middle of a super big bed. He giggles as he sinks, Dean's blue shirt wrapping him up like a blanket.

Then his back hits something solid. "What the…" two voices say at the same time. Tyler looks around and sees a big bulge moving under the blue fabric. "Aaah!" He kicks it, and when the thing starts swearing, he backs away. The bulge follows him. Tyler speed-crawls backward until he reaches the edge of the platform. The bulge stops, moves back to the shirt's opening…and disappears. Tyler looks around, waiting for the thing to jump out at him. Instead he feels something grab his arm. "AAAAH!" He smacks whatever it is away just before he falls off the platform and onto the ground.

"Whoa, hey—you all right?" asks a voice.

"Ghost, GHOST!"

"What?! Where?"

"Stop talking to me! Go away, ghost!"

"Huh? Oh, wait…" A man fades into view, looking down at Tyler from on top of the platform. "Is that better?" Tyler isn't too sure, so the man jumps down and offers his hand to the kid.

"I'm not a ghost," he says. "Here, take my hand." Tyler does, and the man helps him stand up. "See? Nice and solid." Tyler nods his head, though he still isn't sure about this man. He's very tall, and his long hair hangs in his face as he looks down at Tyler. But his eyes seem friendly, and he does look familiar...

"You were in here before," Tyler thinks aloud. The man nods

"I'm Sam, Dean's brother. And you're Tyler, right?"

Tyler's face lights up. "You're Sam! You can help 'im! Come on!" He runs back to the doorway and motions for Sam to follow. Sam does, but he stops before he gets there when something catches his eye. Dean's amulet, huge and heavy, sits discarded in the corner of the little shower alcove. Sam recalls the metal clank he'd heard earlier, right before Dean came out and stopped speaking to them all.

"Sam!" Tyler whispers, waving at him to hurry up. Sam swallows hard, taking another long look at the amulet as he steps over its cord, before he jogs over to Tyler. Tyler puts his finger to his lips to motion for quiet, and then he and Sam lean out of the doorway. "I think he's asleep," Tyler says, still whispering, "but I can't see. Can you?"

Sam looks up and sees Dean's eyes shut, his arms crossed over his chest, breaths coming out slow and even through his nose. Sam knows instantly that Dean isn't really asleep. He's been able to tell since he was six. But he nods at Tyler and says, "Yeah. He's sleeping." Then he leads Tyler back into the room, walking them up to the foot of Dean's bed.

"Hey Sam?" Tyler tilts his head up as Sam looks down. "How'd you escape the soldiers?"

"With this thing," Sam holds out the silver orb. "It made me disappear."

"Woah." Tyler takes it and looks it over. "How's it work?"

Sam smirks. "No idea." He takes it back and pockets it.

"What about Dr. Meesh and your friends? Did they disappear too?"

"No, but I'm sure they're fine. They're trying to find stuff to help Dean."

Tyler sighs at Dean's name. "They better hurry up." He looks down at his shoes and decides they need retying. Sam frowns with worry.

"Tyler? Is Dean okay?"

Tyler shrugs. "Dunno. He won't tell me." One shoe finished, he moves on to the other. "His heart's been sounding funny…like he's running a race, even though he's lying on the bed. And he's been coughing a lot. Sometimes he sounds like my friend Brian when he has an asthma attack." He pauses for a moment and looks up. "If he's sick, he should say something, y'know?"

Sam gives a sobering nod. _Yeah, kid. I know all too well. _"That's my big brother," Sam sighs, "gotta soldier on, no matter how much it hurts." He glares up at Dean, but Dean continues faking his sleep. Sam looks back at Tyler. "He doesn't like anyone worrying about him—even thinking about him. He hates it as much as he hates salad. And he HATES salad. He stabs it with his butter knife and says 'die, salad, die' under his breath." Tyler smirks, and Sam nods. "It's true." He looks up at Dean again: the big face is scrunched up and looking grouchy, but his eyes are still shut tight. Sam smiles and decides to press his luck.

"Anyway. The reason why he won't tell anyone he's sick…well, it goes back to when we were kids. Our mom died when we were really young, so our dad raised us to be tough and ready for anything, so that we could protect ourselves if anyone ever came after us." Sam's face grows grim. "But Dad took it too far, especially with Dean. Dad was gone a lot, so Dean had to do everything, including taking care of me. God, how many times…I'd be lying in bed, ready to fall asleep, and I'd hear Dad going over the safety rules with Dean. They'd always end with the same one: Take care of Sammy. And Dean would promise he would." Sam smiles sadly. "A lot of nights, I couldn't fall asleep until I heard Dean's promise. It made me feel so safe."

"Dean's a good big brother," Tyler says. "I wish I had one. It's just me and my pets. You're lucky, Sam."

Sam nods. "I know. We never had much and we were always moving around, but Dean always found little ways to make things brighter. He'd get me little toys or candy sometimes, take me swimming or on hikes through the woods, lots of stuff. Once, for my birthday, he even arranged for us to have a whole ice cream parlor to ourselves." Sam smiles as he thinks back to that particular late-night break-in. "But as I got older, I started understanding what Dean was giving up to take care of me. Dad pretty much took away Dean's life. If he wasn't pressuring Dean to run faster or do ten more sit-ups in 15 seconds, he was ordering him to stay home or take me to soccer practice or get more supplies. And Dean did it all…never complained. Well, not to me, at least. It was just his job. I never understood why he didn't get angry about it…I'D get angry for him and start yelling at Dad, but Dean would tell me to knock it off. I just…I KNEW…something wasn't right."

"And then one day when I was 14, I figured it out." Sam looks up at Dean, who has shifted a little but otherwise maintains his faux slumber, then down at Tyler, who looks riveted by this story. "We were out on a hunting trip, me, Dean, and Dad. We were hunting a big…bear," Sam lies, seeing the enormous, bear-shaped bugaboo forever etched in his memory. "It had hurt a lot of people, so we went out to take care of it. But it got the drop on us first. It swatted Dad out of the way and he hit his head on a tree. He was out, so that left me and Dean. Dean yelled at me to run, but I couldn't move. That thing…it was the biggest creature I'd ever seen, and its teeth…those eyes…I was frozen stiff. So before I knew it, the bug—bear, was right there in front of us, rising up on its hind legs and roaring. Dean stood in front of me and shot it twice. That just made it MAD. It grabbed Dean's arm in its jaws and threw him out of view. Then it came after me. I tripped over Dean's gun and fell on my ankle, twisting it bad. The bear lunged at me, then suddenly fell forward on its stomach, dead. There was a knife sticking deep in the back of its head. I looked up and saw Dean, with his arm still out from the throw."

Tyler cheers. "Awesome! Go Dean!" Sam doesn't share his enthusiasm, so Tyler's smile fades. "What happened next? Something bad?"

Sam shrugs. "Not by Dean's standards. Dad woke up, took one look at my ankle, and drove me to the hospital. He didn't even look at Dean, just muttered that he should've done a better job protecting me."

"But Dean's arm—you said the bear bit him!"

"It did," Sam nods, "and Dean was bleeding badly, but he wrapped his arm up tight with his shirt and pulled his jacket on over it. Zipped up, he looked completely normal. He didn't speak up once at the hospital, even though I kept telling him that he needed help. Just rolled his eyes and called me delirious and ordered the nurses to get me some good drugs." Sam shakes his head, still embittered by the incident. "Late that night, after we got home, I woke up and saw the bathroom light on. Dean was inside, stitching himself up. I was so _angry_, and I kept throwing questions like punches. Why, Dean? Why don't you ever say anything? Why do you let Dad order you around and knock you down? Why do you just TAKE it? You know what he said?" Tyler shakes his head no. "He told me I should get back in bed and keep weight off my ankle." Sam hangs his head, pressing his lips into a perfect line to hold in his frustration. "So I asked one last question: what about you, Dean? And he looked at me and replied, 'what ABOUT me, Sammy?' And he closed the bathroom door."

Tyler gives a small frown. "I don't get it."

Sam looks up at him and nods. "Neither do I," he admits quietly. "And I probably never will. Why he'd rather be in constant pain instead of letting anyone see him at any less than his best…it's stupid. It's really stupid. There are days I hate him for it." He looks up at Dean to gauge his reaction. "I can see him suffering, but he pretends he's fine. I see that he's sick, but he won't let me help in any way. I wake up to him screaming through another nightmare, and instead of confiding in me the next morning, he takes comfort in his flask instead."

"What's a flask?" Tyler asks. Sam doesn't answer, still focused on Dean's face, which has grown decidedly more clouded.

"He's taken care of me my whole life," Sam says softly. "He takes care of everyone but himself. And it's because he grew up that way, y'know? Dean took care of me, and Dad took care of me, but no one ever took care of Dean. It's not fair, and it's definitely not right. But it's the way it is. Dean sees himself dead last in the line of importance. He can't understand why anyone, especially me, would ever put him first in that line, because he doesn't think he deserves to be there." Sam watches a tear roll down Dean's cheek, though the eyes remain stubbornly shut. "I just wish I could make him understand that being hurt doesn't make him weak. He's the strongest person I know, but that doesn't mean he has to go through his pain alone. Maybe if he let me help sometimes, we'd BOTH feel better."

The lights start to flicker, and Sam and Tyler look around. Sam pushes Tyler behind his back. "Stay close," Sam tells him, looking around as the lights flicker more madly. All of a sudden, the light cuts out entirely, draping them in pure black. They hear a clap of sound—almost like a blast from a _Star Wars_ gun—and a globe of orange light appears in the middle of the room. Tyler and Sam feel something warm around them, followed by a weird sensation, like the floor is dropping away, but they're not falling. When the lights appear again, they find themselves pressed up against a wall of grey cotton, held there by Dean's slightly sweaty palm.

"I'll be damned, it actually worked," Sam hears a familiar, gravelly voice remark. The cotton wall falls away as Dean levels his hand and lets Sam and Tyler see out. The globe of orange light is gone, and Bobby, Michelle, and Owen stand in its place.

"Dr. Meesh!" Tyler exclaims, but when he starts to climb over the side of Dean's palm, Dean covers him up with his other hand. Sam sees his brother eyeing the good doctor, suspicion plain on his huge face.

"It's all right, Dean," Sam tells him. "She really is on our side. We can trust her."

Tyler is wriggling underneath Dean's protective fingers, so Dean sets them both down. Tyler scampers over to Michelle and wraps his arms around her waist. "How'd you escape?" he asks her. "How'd you get here?"

"With this," Owen announces, holding up an amulet. "Reckoned it would be easier to teleport back here than sneak our way in. Course we'll have to find another way out…the amulet has to charge before we can use it again, and that will take at least a week."

"Wait a minute," Bobby grumbles turning to face Owen. "You're tellin' me that you had that amulet with ya the whole time, and now we just wasted it on a quick trip back here when we coulda used it to get Dean out of this place?"

Everyone joins in the group glare at Owen, who shrugs his backpack up higher on his shoulders. "W-well I didn't have it on me this whole time…it was in my kit, and we just recovered that. So I'm not a complete git…not really…"

"It's just as well," Michelle says. "If Dean suddenly disappeared, they'd track him down and drag him back here. Probably lock him up in even tighter security. Then there's his new chip to worry about…" She looks up at Dean, who is crestfallen but trying to hide it. "If we want to ensure Dean's freedom, we have to make sure the soldiers won't go after him once he's escaped. And to do that, we have to make them believe that he's completely useless to the project. I'm afraid there's only one way to assure that."

"And I'm guessing we won't like it," Sam says, crossing his arms. Michelle shakes her head, face grim as she looks up at Sam.

"Dean has to die."


	14. Details Shmetails

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very** **Personal** (cont.)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** This chapter has a TON of exposition at the beginning, just to warn you. But the action picks up again at the end, just before a particularly evil cliffie. You've been warned. A heapin' hunk of thanks to Katiki for her patience and her always amazing beta work. Off we go!

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**Chapter Fourteen: Details Shmetails**

Michelle braces herself for the inevitable outrage, but no one says a word. She looks at them each in turn. Tyler is frightened, Sam is stormy, Owen is curious, Dean is bewildered, and Bobby is cute. Well, he's frowning, but even his frown is cute to Meesh. She decides to address him with her follow-up question. "Well? Doesn't anyone want to tell me I'm crazy or evil or sick?"

"You're not really gonna kill him," Bobby replies. "I think we all know that. But I'd start explaining yourself before some of us start to wonder anyway." He gives Sam a long, pointed look, reassuring him and warning him not to freak out at the same time. Sam just folds his arms and shifts his weight. Bobby turns back to Michelle and nods at her to go on.

"All right. You might want to sit down for this. I've got to cover some history first." They all sit down in a circle. Then a big shadow falls over them all: Dean is standing over them and looking a bit like the last kid called to play kickball.

"Make room you guys!" Tyler yells at them. They all slide over, widening part of the circle until there's room enough for Dean to join them. Then Tyler pats the ground next to him. "Sit by me, Dean!"

Dean sits down as carefully as he can, keeping his eyes glued to the floor as his enormous legs fold and cross. Once he's down, his bare feet are just millimeters (to him) away from Tyler's beaming smile to his left and Owen's shaking shoulders to his right. Dean throws him a look of 'really?' and Owen replies, "Sorry, it's just with you…ALL of you…up close like this, it's just a bit overwhelming is all…"

Sam waits for Dean's smartass reply, but it never comes: Dean keeps his chin down, and the huge green eyes flit up and lock on Michelle. And it occurs to Sam that Dean hasn't said a single word since he snuck back into the room. _No, before that—since we were taken away, _Sam realizes. He looks up at his very big brother, worried. _What's going on up there, Dean? _

Michelle clears her throat and begins her story.

"This joint is known only as Project Spire, and it's so top top TOP top secret even the folks at Area 51 and the President himself don't know about it. I can tell you that this place didn't start out as a torture chamber for giants. Roughly ten years ago, it was actually a place of research. Some of the best and brightest in science and medicine came here to study the supernatural. With a big grant from a private firm, they hired some hunters to capture supernatural creatures."

"Never called me," Bobby huffs, seeing the same reaction in Sam and Dean. "I've never even heard about this, and trust me, sugar—I hear about pretty much everything."

"So it's 'sugar' now," Michelle smiles, fluttering her eyelashes. Bobby's face remains hard, but his cheeks go bright pink, making Michelle smile even more. "I'm sure the hunters were paid to keep their mouths shut. But that was before my time. I only know what I've been told and what little intel I've been able to scrounge up over the years."

"What have they studied over the years?" Owen asks as he pushes his glasses up his nose.

Michelle shrugs. "Vampires, werewolves, spirits, zombies, banshees, dragons, djinns, pixies, rawheads, onis, ghouls, goblins—"

"Demons?" Sam asks, glancing up at his brother, who looks just as darkly curious. Michelle shakes her head.

"No demons. Hunters refused to bring them here. But they made some stunning discoveries from all the other creatures, and some had practical uses, like the Lycan healing enzyme. One of their biggest breakthroughs was the invisibility device they adapted from rakshasas. Turns out they don't actually vanish—they just have a supremely good chameleon effect."

"Let me guess," Sam says, "that's when the Department of Defense got interested."

"Actually it was the discovery of the vamp adrenaline that got the government knocking on the front door. No idea how they ever heard about this place, but they were VERY interested in what the findings could do to help the modern soldier. Seemingly overnight, this place turned from research as Priority One to engineering and experimentation. Most of the original scientists refused to experiment on people, even volunteers, so they were all handed pink slips and kicked out. The military started hiring from within. That's how I wound up here. I've got degrees in medicine and psychology, and I'd been working at different bases for nearly 20 years by the time they contacted me about my transfer. They wouldn't tell me anything about where I was going—only that my skills would be challenged to their very limits." She grins. "I never turn down a challenge…

"I arrived here about five years ago. Didn't know one thing about the supernatural, only that most of it was bullshit. Course I accepted the truth by the end of the first day. Hard not to after a poltergeist makes you its bitch for one long afternoon." She makes a face at the memory. "So I helped out on various projects, getting more and more involved as they started bringing in volunteer soldiers for various experiments. It was three years ago that the Giant Program started. The military thought it would behoove us to try and make a bigger, stronger soldier. So we gave the first few volunteers different combinations of injections and hormones. Giant Number 4 gave us our best results at the time, reaching a maximum height of 12 feet and keeping that height for six-hour periods. But that wasn't good enough for what the military had in mind. They wanted bigger men and a minimum 24-hour size-retention period. So we started experimenting with more dangerous concoctions. The volunteers experienced more growth, but the bigger they got, the more pain they were in. Poor Aaron—he was Number 7…one day he shot up to nearly twenty-five feet, and his knees broke. Both of them just…shattered from the weight. He didn't walk again for months. And I was partly to blame for that."

Michelle takes a pause, gathering up her emotions and tucking them away before she speaks again. "I spoke to all the higher-ups about what happened and told them that we had to stop pushing these men so far. They disagreed and told me that the volunteers were just weak. Can you believe that? Their own soldiers, weak. I called bullshit, and they told me to fall in line. So I quit, told them where to go, and turned to leave. They brought in the new volunteer as I headed for the door." She swallows hard. "Imagine my surprise when I came face to face with my own son."

Everyone shifts, uncomfortable, and Michelle has to gather herself again. "Jeremy did everything his dad did, including lying about his age to enlist in the army early. I was scared he was going to die in combat, just like my Nathan did when Jeremy was younger." She shakes her head. "His volunteering for the research program took out the combat fear, but I knew he was bound to suffer. I tried to talk him out of it, but he's stubborn and thrives on challenges, just like his mom. He told me he'd be fine, told me not to worry." She laughs, bitter. "Yeah, Mom not worrying—like that was going to happen. But what could I do? He'd signed the papers and was eager to prove me wrong.

"So Jeremy became Giant Number 8. He also became the first one to be injected with hydros venom. Our team leader wanted to try something new, and my son was to be the guinea pig. Took them a long time to figure out that small amounts of hydros venom only make a person swell up. Jeremy's hands at one point were each this big." She holds her hands out about three feet apart. "Had to be spoon-fed for a week, both hands kept in traction to keep the blood flowing to them…" She gives a small smile. "But he took it all in stride, you know? Never complained once about the discomfort or the weirdness." Michelle looks right up at Dean and adds, "I wish he would have. Things might have gone much easier for him."

She sighs. "Anyway, it wasn't long after that they tried a combination of hydros venom and a growth accelerant we had developed. Results were instantaneous: Jeremy shot up like a firework right before our eyes, 6'1" to 35'8" in ten seconds." Michelle pulls an old, folded photograph out of her doctor coat pocket and hands it to Sam. "As you can see, he was thrilled." The picture shows Michelle standing in front of a huge, smiling young man in very tattered green army fatigues, who is down on one knee behind her and has his big hand resting over her right side. "Things were good for a while. The new formula held steady for three days. The instant Jeremy started reverting, they'd shoot him up again, and he'd grow a few feet more. Each time the new growth would last longer than the time before. It looked like we'd finally had the breakthrough we needed." She shuts her eyes. "God were we wrong…

"A little over a week after Jeremy's first successful growth, I went down to join him for dinner, as I did every night. Jeremy was about as big as you are now, Dean, and he was in the corner of the room, all curled up and shivering. I asked him what was wrong. He looked down at me and said, 'Mom, I'm sorry.' He picked me up and hugged me against his chest, apologizing over and over. And that's when I heard his ragged heartbeat. I asked him if he was in any pain. He clamped his eyes shut, shook his head no, but said, 'Yes, Mom. It hurts everywhere. But don't tell anyone, okay?'" Michelle looks at Bobby. "He actually thought that by being in pain, he was letting everyone down."

"Hmm, wonder why that sounds so familiar," Bobby mutters, glancing up at Dean. Dean says nothing, just keeps his eyes fixed on Michelle. She's fighting tears now, and they all wait patiently for her to continue.

"I'd been monitoring him the whole time—I'm his doctor AND his mother, dammit. And yet I'd never thought to check…" She swipes a tear away with the back of her fist. "He said he was fine! Every time I asked him if anything hurt, he'd say no. And now he was in shock, heartbeat erratic, panting…after I got him comfortable, we ran some tests, and..." Her voice trails off, filled with emotion, and she wipes away more tears. "My son now had the body of an 80-year-old man. Didn't matter how huge and strong he was on the outside—inside, his bones had become brittle. Six of his toes were broken, and one of his ribs had fractured from the weight of his lungs and liver. Every joint suffered muscle tear, his blood pressure was through the roof, and his heart was under so much stress, it was a miracle he hadn't suffered an attack yet."

"So the formula had exaggerated his growth process, but internally, it had sped up his aging process," Owen sums up. "Fascinating." Everyone glares at him. "Well not fascinating in a good way, give over! I've never heard of that in any hydros case is all. It must have been the formula…mutated it somehow. What happened next?"

"I ordered him to immediate bed rest and brought up my findings to the rest of the team. They decided to give him another injection first thing in the morning." She nods at their dropped jaws. "Now that they considered him 'faulty,' they wanted to treat him as a lab rat and inject him over and over to see just how much of the formula and its side effects his body would take before it shut down. They were going to KILL MY SON." Her face becomes hard. "So I decided to kill him first.

"That very night, I snuck into his room and woke him up to explain my plan. He didn't want to go along with it: still felt like the army needed him to be his best, no matter what. I told him that dying for your country is one thing, but being murdered is quite another." Bobby puts a hand on her shoulder, and Michelle looks to him with her thanks. "My plan was simple: I'd inject him with a sleep inoculation that we'd adapted from djinn blood. It would put Jeremy into such a deep sleep that for all purposes, he'd appear dead. Then once they brought him back up to the main floor to examine his body, I'd revive him and we'd both escape. They didn't have the enormous recovery team then as they do now."

"Did it work?" Tyler asks, looking concerned. "Was Jeremy okay?"

"Plan went off without a hitch," Michelle smiles. "Got up there, revived him, he jumped over the doctors, grabbed me, and smashed through the front door and out to freedom. Even with all the pain he was in, the broken toes and torn muscles and everything, he just kept running. I yelled at him to take a break, but he insisted he had to put enough distance between us and them. He finally stopped at dusk, when we'd reached a small lake. He set me down, and in between huge gasps for air, he started apologizing again—this time for not believing in ME. He told me that he'd volunteered for the program because the recruiter told him I was suffering from severe depression, and that maybe if Jeremy came and worked with me, he'd make his poor mother happier. I asked him who the asshole was, so I could introduce my boot to his ass. He said he never got the name…just that the guy never took off his sunglasses."

"Holy shit," Sam says, "HIM?"

"Him. He was also there when they tried to recapture Jeremy. Came late that night. Jeremy was asleep, but there was such a bright, full moon out that I couldn't keep my eyes shut. And then the light went out. I heard a roar of noise, and a swarm of helicopters buzzed in over our heads. Jeremy was up at once and grabbing them, bringing them down, but there were too many. I told him to run. He grabbed for me, but I jumped out of the way—told him to leave me there, that they wanted me more than him, because I knew everything about the program. They started shooting, and he finally turned and ran. Shady Guy came up behind me and led me back to an awaiting chopper. He told me I was stupid, that they'd recapture my son in no time." She frowns and narrows her eyes. "They always underestimate us. It's been two-and-a-half years since Jeremy's escape, and they never caught him." Her eyes and chin drop as she adds, "Of course, I haven't seen him since then, either. No word. He might be dead for all I know, though my heart tells me otherwise…"

Sam turns to her. "So what that asshole said before—do you think he's telling the truth? Do they actually know where Jeremy is?"

"I don't know. I hope not. But I've played along with them all these years just to keep him safe. They think they're using him to keep me in line, but I've been playing them the whole time, gathering intel right under their noses. I could leave right now and expose them to the world if I wanted. I've only stayed because SOMEone had to remind the scientists that our giants are still people." She gives Dean a sad smile. "But I'm just one person. My say-so only goes so far. That's why we have to get Dean out of here, before he becomes their next study victim."

"Victim?" Bobby repeats. Michelle turns to him and looks him in the nose instead of the eyes.

"Every giant since Jeremy has died here," she replies quietly. "I did my best to take care of them, keep them healthy and well, but the scientists always get greedy and keep injecting them. Dean certainly isn't the biggest man we've seen around here. Lucas, giant number 15, grew to 108 feet before he succumbed to gravity and the formula's side effects." She looks up at Dean again. "That's why you're such an interest to them, Dean. Your insides, as far as we can tell, are healthy and normal, adapting to your growth with ease. It's only your heart and lungs that are still suffering from your new physical weight. There is no way they will let you go until they figure out how to replicate it, and to do that, they'll put you through endless, excruciating tests. I won't let that happen again. I can't. I'd rather die than see you go through that pain."

"So you want to 'kill' Dean instead," Owen concludes. "Do what you did with your son."

"Won't they be expectin' that?" Bobby asks. "You already did it once."

"That's where Owen comes in. If he can create a magical concoction that has the same effects as my inoculation, they won't be able to detect it in his blood. Science can only go so far with magic, after all."

Owen grabs his rucksack and swings it in front of him. "I can whip up a batch of Death's Kiss. It's the so-called potion they alluded to in _Romeo and Juliet_, only this is the dog's bollocks: all the effect without the high drama."

"How long will it last?"

"30 minutes at most, given Dean's size. I'd need a lot more to make a longer-lasting dose, and my kit only holds so much of everything." He starts pulling various bags and bottles out of the rucksack. "It'll take me about as long to prepare it." Owen stands up to leave, but Sam stands up too and grabs his arm.

"Whoa, hold on," Sam says, turning Owen back around. "Can we just stop and think about this for more than a second?" Sam looks back at Michelle. "Things are a lot different now than when your son was here. You said yourself that they didn't have the military force then that they do now—how the hell will we all escape if we get Dean out of here?"

"And that's a big 'if,' you hafta admit," Bobby agrees, standing as well. "We don't even know if the potion will work. No offense, Owen."

Owen shrugs. "None taken. But think on this: these people have been after me for years now. They know what I can do."

"Exactly," Sam says, "they KNOW you. Even if they can't detect the magic you'll use, how do you know they won't suspect you were involved?"

"Because they won't see him performing the magic," Michelle answers. "One, there are no cameras or bugs in this room, and there are guards at the door that never saw us come in and won't see us go out. Two, you, Owen, Bobby and I will all be out of this room when Dean 'succumbs,'" she says, making the quotey fingers. "Well, not out-out. I'll be out, you, Sam will be invisible…Owen and Bobby, you'll have to hide…don't think we can risk all of us sneaking out at the same time…"

"What about me?" Tyler asks. Michelle looks at the little boy and smiles.

"You have the most important role of all. Do you still have the emergency button I gave you?"

"Yup, right here!" he smiles, pulling it out of his pocket.

"Good. Once Dean is out, I want you to press it over and over. My warning beeper will go off, and I can come back in the room and pretend to be surprised and upset. The guards will think I'm learning about it at the same time that they are."

Sam still looks unsure. "This all seems way too easy," he remarks. "And when things seem easy, it usually means we overlooked something."

"Too many things that can go wrong," Bobby adds. "Dean might wake up early, or never be fully put out. We could be captured, and then we won't be with you, Tyler, and Dean when it's time for the great escape. And then there's that new chip in his neck."

Michelle replies, "They'll take that out before they begin the autopsy."

"Autopsy?!" Sam and Bobby shout. Michelle waves her hands to clear the air of their outrage.

"Dean will revive before they cut him open. I know the post-mortem process—I've seen it enough over the years. They keep the implants for their records, so I'm sure they'll remove his neck chip when they remove his hand implant."

"But what if they don't?" Sam challenges. "What if they keep that in, Dean wakes up, we all make a break for it, and he gets paralyzed before we get to the door? Or what if Dean doesn't revive at all? What if WE can't get him to wake up? What if they call our bluff and lock us all up and put Dean in solitary confinement or something? What if—"

"I say we go for it."

Everyone looks up at Dean, who has finally spoken up. His face is thoughtful, his eyes clear. Sam can't believe what he heard. "But Dean…this is the Swiss cheese of escape plans. Way too many holes. We should think of something else."

"We don't have time," Dean answers. "The way I see it, I can either risk dying while trying to escape, or wait around here till their tests or my own body kills me. Think I'll take Door Number One, if it's all the same to you. Just one question, Meesh" The big greens go to the doctor. "That dick in sunglasses said we're hundreds of feet underground. So how the hell do I get up to the main level?"

"This room is also an elevator," she explains. "Once you were captured, they loaded you inside, and the room dropped down to the Giant Containment Level. Once your implant detects that you're dead, the room will automatically rise back up to the main floor."

"A moving room," Dean smirks. "Very _Cube_." No one gets the movie reference. "Oh come on! This room is…green." Blank faces blink up at him, so with an eye roll, Dean stands up, steps over the little circle of friends, and lowers himself back to the ground. Once he's lying down on his stomach, he readies himself with a deep breath and starts doing push-ups.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks loudly.

"What's it look like?" Dean answers. "Gotta get ready to run, and I haven't done my exercises since I got here." He looks over at Owen and nods at him. "Get mixing, man. Bobby, help Tyler finish fixing my baby's door. No way I'm leaving her behind. And Sam," Dean pauses at the top of a push-up and smiles back at his little brother, "work with Meesh and start filling in some of those holes. We go in smart—"

"Or we don't go in at all," Sam recites. "Yeah, I know." Dean grins at him, and Sam turns away. _Doesn't make this plan any less insane…_

"Hey, you don't have…to like it, Sammy," Dean calls, seemingly reading his brother's mind as he keeps pushing his body up and down, "but let's…face it: this…is our best shot…and we're taking it. Don't make me…put you back…in my pocket…for the ride."

Bobby gives Sam a bent eyebrow and a smirk at that, and Tyler pouts, "Aww, I wanna ride in his pocket." Dean's huge hand appears over Tyler, and the giant fingers scoop the boy up and set Tyler on top of Dean's head as he continues his push-ups. Tyler whoops and hollers like he's on an enormous bronco, and everyone smiles. Then Michelle's hand comes over Sam's shoulder, and she gently pulls at him to turn around. He looks down at her and locks onto her eyes.

"Tell me this is going to work," he both asks and demands.

"It has to," she replies in earnest. Sam's face fills with worry, and she pats him on the arm. "Come on, Sam. Let's do our best to make sure Dean gets out of here, safe and sound."

They sit down in the shadow of the giant cot and get to work.

* * *

Roughly half an hour later, everyone knows their part of the plan. As Owen goes through the final steps on the potion, Bobby and Michelle are by the Impala, rearranging the weapons in the trunk to make room for a hiding spot. Sam is there too, though his eyes are on the mammoth foot that stomps down a few feet in front of him. Dean has been jogging laps for the past five minutes, with Tyler holding onto Dean's shirt collar and having the ride of his life. Tyler keeps squealing for Dean to run faster, but Dean has kept his pace steady. Sam knows it's both for Tyler's protection as well as Dean's—he has to save his strength for the actual escape.

_If we get to that part, _Sam thinks. He still has misgivings about this plan. Sure, he and Michelle have gone through every last detail with a fine-tooth comb, but there's still so much risk involved. _Most of this plan is completely out of our control. I HATE that. _The dark energy deep inside him starts to flare up. _This isn't going in smart, it's just going in and hoping for the best! Never should have let him get captured…well fine, it's not my fault he got captured—he never should've gone back for the Impala. And okay, so he got it cos I flipped the truck. Why did I take that curve so fast? Dammit, it IS all my fault! He was depending on me, and I screwed up! Why the hell can't I do anything right anymore?! _

Sam's torn from his raging thoughts by a noise—or rather, a lack of noise. It's far too quiet. Ire and energy die down the moment Sam notices that Dean has stopped running and is looking at him from across the room. Sam turns away and pretends he doesn't hear the huge footsteps coming closer.

"So are we all ready here?" Sam asks Bobby. No sooner are his words out than the car and everyone around it is draped in shadow. Tyler is gently set down with one hand, while the other grabs Sam by the scruff of his shirt and jacket and pulls him skyward.

"Need to borrow my brother for a second," Dean tells them all as he cups Sam between his hands and turns away. Sam's muffled protests come from behind the finger walls, but Dean ignores him. He carries him into the shower alcove, shuts the door, steps around his newly laundered clothes on the floor, and sets Sam down on the towel rack. Then Dean looks at him. Sam looks right back, waiting for Dean to say what's on his mind, but Dean just keeps studying him.

"What?" Sam asks at last.

"I don't know, you tell me."

Sam scoffs, annoyed, but Dean just lifts his eyebrows, waiting. "I don't like this plan," Sam admits at last. "It's like someone's blindfolded us, shoved us into a maze, and told us to find our way out."

"Yeah, there's risk," Dean agrees. "But c'mon, Sam, there's always risk in our plans."

"This isn't the normal kind of risk, Dean—that's just the problem! We know what we're up against when we're hunting demons and vampires, but this? Secret military base, you being a giant, trusting some magical potion to work just like that…" Sam sighs. "Someone's going to get hurt. Maybe all of us."

"That's why you have to promise me something." Dean puts a hand on the wall next to the towel rack and leans his face closer to Sam. "If this plan goes south and something happens to me, you have to get everyone out."

"No, Dean—"

"It's not a request. Let's face it—I'm the biggest liability here. If I don't wake up, or if I can't keep going, you have to get everyone out of here. Tyler needs to get home to his parents, Meesh needs to find her son, Owen has to get a head start on these guys, and you and Bobby need to disappear."

Sam shakes his head no. "We're not going to just leave you here, Dean!"

"Yes you are," Dean orders him. Sam's entire world is made up of two giant, commanding green eyes, staring their will into him. But Sam doesn't back down. Instead, he stands up on the towel rack and nods like he's realizing something, throwing Dean a very serious smile as he does so.

"So we're back to that, huh?" Sam snaps. Dean looks confused, so Sam adds, "You ordering me to live my life, keep going, don't worry about what happens to you. Just like you expected me to when you were dragged off to Hell." Sam shakes his head again, face turning red with anger. "Now you're in this new Hell. You really think I'm just gonna leave you here? Just give up and turn away and forget about you?" A tear escapes Sam's eye, and he swipes it away with his sleeve. "Dammit Dean, I'm NOT losing you again, you hear me? I'm not going back to worrying about you every second of every day, thoughts running wild with pictures of you being tortured. That isn't living, Dean—that's MY torture. I can't let you suffer for me again. I WON'T." Sam glares at Dean with everything he's got, and the giant recoils and steps back. Those once-commanding green eyes now gaze at Sam with trepidation, as if they can't believe it's really Sam before them. Dean blinks and gulps.

"Sammy…"

"Don't," Sam points at him. "If you want me to stay positive about this stupid plan, then you have to stay positive about getting out of here with the rest of us. Capiche?"

Dean gives a small smirk. "Respect your authoritah." Sam stands stoic, and Dean nods, thinking it over. His face becomes serious again and he says, "Fine. Just make sure you do your best to get ALL of us out safe and sound, not just me. That means you can't stay behind either. No martyrs today." It's Dean's turn to glare now. "Capiche?" Sam nods in turn. "All right." Dean holds out his palm, and Sam steps on to it. "Go check on Owen."

Sam gets lowered to the floor, and as he steps off Dean's hand, he looks way, way up at his brother. "What are you going to do?"

Dean pulls his white t-shirt off. "Change back into my regular clothes, if that's all right with you. Why, you want to watch?" Dean wriggles his eyebrows, and Sam throws him a bitchface. As Sam turns to leave, he spots the amulet, still residing in the corner near the alcove's door. His remaining anger goes cold as he remembers how it ended up there.

"Dean…look, about what I said earlier…"

Dean holds his hand up to shush him. "One Hallmark moment at a time, Sammy." Dean reaches over Sam's head, snags his amulet off the floor, and puts it back around his neck, where it belongs. He looks down at it and gives a single nod, almost proud, and then looks at Sam, letting the warmth in his big eyes do the talking. Sam takes a deep breath through his nose and nods in reply. Then Dean reaches over him again, grabs his boots, and gently shuts the door on his tiny brother.

When Dean emerges a few minutes later, Sam is still right there by the door. Dean looks down at him. "What, you forget how to walk?" Sam looks up, puppy dog eyes out in full force. Dean rolls his eyes, bends over, and holds his hand out to Sam. "Do not get used to this," Dean grumbles as Sam steps on. "I'm not the bus."

"I know," Sam returns. "The bus is a much smoother ride, and it never complains."

Sam promptly gets dumped in Dean's front jeans pocket. He smirks when he hears Sam's annoyed yells. He full-on grins when he hears Sam complain about a hole…and what he can see through said hole.

"So," Dean says as he joins the others. "We ready to get this show on the road?"

"Juuust about," Michelle replies as she carefully removes Bobby's implant from his hand. Coaxing it out as she would a sliver, she then pulls it the rest of the way with a tweezer and sets his down next to the implants she'd removed from Owen and Sam ten minutes ago. She puts a small bandage over Bobby's cut, and Bobby twitches from the contact sting. "Aww, want me to kiss it better?" she flirts. Bobby glares at her—but doesn't pull his hand away. She gives him a quick peck on the cheek instead. Then she pockets the removed implants and turns around to face the others.

"All right. Your implants will go dead any second, and the people upstairs will believe you've figured out how to remove them. I'm keeping my implant active, as well as Tyler's and Dean's, so they don't suspect that we had anything to do with it. Are we ready?" Everyone nods (Tyler twice as fast and confident as anyone else), and Owen steps forward.

"Et voila." He shows them all a vial filled with purple liquid. Dean takes a death-glaring, arms-crossed, red-faced Sam out of his pocket and sets him down, then gently takes the teeny-tiny vial from Owen. Dean holds it up close to his eyes and looks it over. "Trust me, it's enough," Owen tells him. "That little amount would be enough to put 5 men in permanent comas. But for you, it'll be just right."

"How long will it take to kick in?"

"Seconds only. Make sure you're not standing near anything you don't want to crush." Dean promptly moves away from them all.

"Still don't see why he has to stand up," Sam murmurs, still pissed off and trying to stay pissed off despite how concerned he is for his asshole brother who just put him in his pants pocket complete with a hole open to his galaxy-sized 'area.'

"For authenticity," Michelle answers. "They'll see right through it if he tries to position himself on the floor. We have to make sure everything about Dean's placement and condition coincides with Tyler's story." She looks down at Tyler now. "You know what you have to say, right?"

"He knows," Bobby smiles, ruffling the kid's hair. "Even answered every question I threw at him. We're good to go."

Michelle and Sam both nod and look at each other. "All right," says Michelle. "Give me exactly seven minutes before you swallow that stuff, Dean. I need to be far enough away before Tyler presses the emergency button." Dean nods, and Michelle waves at him to come down. He crouches down, and she stands on tiptoe and kisses him on the chin. "For luck," she says. "I'm a mom. I have to do stuff like that."

Dean smiles. "Thanks, Meesh. For everything. Be careful, all right?"

"You too, sweetie. I'll see you real soon." Then she turns and gives Sam a big hug. "He's going to be fine," she whispers in his ear. "He's got you to look after him." Sam gives her an extra squeeze for that. Finally, Michelle runs over to Bobby and pulls him into what can only be described as a super smooch, pushing so hard into his face that Bobby starts to bend backward. When she finally breaks away, Michelle gives him a huge smile. "There'd better be a date coming up." Bobby watches after her as she runs over to the clothing cart and jumps up behind one of the back wheels.

"Damn right there'll be a date," he says to himself. Both Sam and Dean catch it and give each other amused looks.

"Hit it!" Michelle calls. Dean gently inches the cart up to the wall, and the moment it makes contact, the long, flat panel opens, and the cart is pulled forward. Once the panel shuts, Bobby and Owen climb into the Impala's trunk. Sam walks up to them and tries not to smirk as the two men struggle to get situated without putting their butts or feet in each other's faces.

"That better be a gun clip down there," Bobby grumbles, glancing down at his area. Sam bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Bobby glares at him anyway. "Close it up before I change my mind about all this." Sam does as he's told and shuts the trunk. Then Tyler surprises him by rushing up and hugging his legs.

"Good luck, Sasquatch Sam," Tyler breathes. Sam looks up at Dean in confusion, but Dean only smiles and kneels down.

"He'll be fine, Tyler," Dean assures him. "We're superheroes, remember? We always win." Tyler nods, smiling himself, and he holds his arms out for a hug. Dean lifts him up and obliges him, holding him to his chest as gently as he can. Then he sets him back down and tells him to get ready. Tyler moves away, and Dean and Sam look at each other. Both men smile, but their eyes betray their calm, confident masks.

"Don't tell me you want a hug too," Dean teases.

"I think I'll survive without one," Sam sasses back. Dean grins and grabs for him anyway, pulling him up into a tight hug against his grey shirt. Sam, face smooshed sideways and arms splayed out against part of a gargantuan pectoral, comments, "You're a lot cuddlier since you got bigger, know that?"

"Only because you're fun to cuddle when you're so teeny," Dean says from above. Both men realize at the same time how all of this is sounding, so Dean sets Sam back down and they slip behind their 'everything is fine' masks again. Sam takes the invisibility orb out of his pocket and holds it up.

"Don't you lose that thing," Dean warns him. "You promised you'd let me play with it once we're out of here, and I'm holding you to that promise."

Sam smiles. "I won't." They look at each other again in silence. Finally, Dean checks his watch and nods that it's time. He stands up, and Sam clears his throat and says, "Make sure you come back, Dean."

Dean smirks back and holds up the vial. "See you on the other side, Sammy."

Sam puts the orb to his chest and disappears, and Dean tips the vial, pours the contents onto his tongue, and swallows.

"Huh. Grapey."

Dean pockets the tiny bottle and looks around, waiting. A moment passes by. Then another. All at once, Dean's huge body starts to sway. He breaks out into a sweat as his head rolls and his eyes go glossy. "Holy…" His knees buckle and his body drops onto the floor stomach first, making everything and everyone in the room jump. The color drains from his skin, the lights go out of his eyes, and Dean falls still—a dead mountain in the center of a concrete field. Tyler starts pressing the button immediately, and the door opens right after that, four guards spilling into the room. They move past Tyler and up to the giant.

"What happened?!" one of the soldiers asks Tyler.

"I don't know!" Tyler cries. "He was exercising, and then he said he didn't feel good. I told him he should lie down, but he just stopped and…and fell over." Another soldier is standing next to Dean's face, his hand under the nostrils to check for breathing. "Is he dead?" Tyler asks him. The soldier doesn't answer him, just calls to another one to check for a pulse. "Is he DEAD?" Tyler shouts more loudly.

"We don't know, kid," the first soldier answers. "Just sit tight, okay?" He joins the others in checking Dean's vitals, and Tyler backs away. His back hits the thumb of Dean's outstretched hand, and Tyler starts to tremble. He soon feels a hand rest on his shoulder.

"It's okay," Sam consoles him in a whisper. "It's not real, remember? He's just asleep."

"I know," Tyler whispers back, not at all disturbed by the invisible comfort. "But it's still sad."

Sam can't argue with that. He sticks by Tyler as the soldiers call for assistance. Soon they hear a familiar voice yelling outside the door.

"He's still my patient—let me in there!"

The door opens, and Michelle storms in, with a cavalcade of soldiers close behind. She takes one look at the fallen giant and moves into full-on doctor mode, ordering most of the new soldiers to roll Dean onto his back and others to help her check his vitals. The men shout out numbers, Michelle saying "no" or "dammit" after every call. Sam nearly loses it when the soldiers activate the hooks and chains to help in rolling Dean, but Michelle keeps a close eye on them, making sure they hook the chains around his arm and chest, not into them. Once he's up on his side, Michelle rushes up to Dean's chest and listens.

"We're losing him. Get the defibrillator out here NOW." A soldier goes to the panel under the cot, and the bed lifts up onto its side as the entire bottom half of the wall moves forward and up to Dean's right side. A plethora of what looks like alien machinery pushes out, and Michelle dashes behind a control console just as the soldiers behind her finally manage to get Dean onto his back. There's a rush of motion as huge tubes and devices come out, some from the ceiling, some from the side. Michelle guides each of them in with two joysticks, and in no time, Dean's mouth and nose are covered with a breathing apparatus, and a pair of giant defibrillator pads has settled onto his chest.

"CLEAR!" Michelle all but screams. She presses a button, and a buzzing sound builds all around them. Nothing happens. "What the…" She looks at something on her console. "It isn't charged." She presses it again. "It isn't CHARGED! WHY the HELL isn't it charged?!"

Michelle flies forward, very nearly knocking into still-invisible Sam, who is both marveling at her acting and relieved that she remembered to deactivate the defibrillator. Now he turns and watches her climb up onto Dean's chest at woman-with-a-mission speed. Several guards circle around her, and she counts to three. They all press down at the same time, once, twice, again, on and on until Sam loses count, before she points at another guard by the breathing mask and orders him to up the oxygen intake. "Come on Dean, don't do this," she says, joining the others in more compressions. They push on for another five minutes. By then, Michelle's face is nearly purple from exertion. One of the soldiers gently tries to pull her away. "NO! Keep going!"

"He's gone, doc," the soldier by Dean's wrist says. "No pulse in over five minutes."

Michelle's arms slow their compressions as she glances around. The men by the breathing apparatus shake their heads no. A soldier at the joystick console stares back, frustrated. The men by her side help her stand up, and Michelle pushes them off. "I'm fine," she snaps, brushing tears from her eyes. Then she looks at her watch and pronounces Dean's death. The only sound in the room is coming from Tyler, whose little whimpers are shaking his small frame. Sam's heart goes out to him: even though he knows that Tyler knows Dean isn't dead, his brother still looks like it. Sam himself shudders as he beholds those lifeless, grey hands. Sam moves to comfort Tyler, but a wall of soldiers assembles in front of him, and Sam has to stay put to avoid detection.

Michelle slides down Dean's shoulder and takes the boy in her arms. "I know, sweetie," she soothes, rubbing her arm up and down his back. "I know."

"Implant readouts at zero," the soldier at the control panel states. "Hold on, everyone."

They hear something clamping down on something else, and all at once, everyone is pressed to the floor as the entire room zooms up. What ends up being a 20-second ascent feels more like a lifetime, and as everyone trades nauseated looks, the room finally slows down. The giant walls all around them stop and sink as the floor keeps rising up, and a stark room the size of an airplane hanger opens up all around them. Just as their floor levels out and clamps into place, a crew of scientists rush forward, lab coats billowing in their haste. Michelle breaks away from Tyler to face a chorus of demands and questions.

_Go time, Tyler, _Sam thinks at the boy, praying he remembers what to do next. To Sam's great relief, Tyler starts moving backward toward the Impala, taking only two, careful steps at a time. He's over halfway to the car when someone walks up behind him and grabs him by the arm.

"Not so fast, young man," everyone's favorite douchebag in sunglasses says, all but dragging Tyler back to the crowd. Sam follows close behind, keeping his hands glued to his sides instead of punching the guy like he wants to. Michelle and the scientists stop talking as soon as Mr. Shady and Tyler approach.

"What killed my giant?" he demands. No one answers. "Well? He didn't just keel over for no reason."

"Y-yes he did, sir," Tyler speaks up, nearly crumbling from the weight of the stares that get thrown at him. "He was exercising—"

"Exercising? Why?"

"To keep up his strength, sir. He said light exercise helped him breathe better ever since he started growing. So he was jogging laps, and…and…"

"And and and WHAT?" Mr. Shady shouts in Tyler's face.

"Leave him alone," Michelle snaps. "He was friends with the giant, and now he just watched him die. The poor child is traumatized, can't you see that? He doesn't need you barreling question after question at him."

Mr. Shady studies Michelle, and Michelle puts her hands on her hips and stares right back. "Where have you been, doctor?" he asks. "Last I'd heard, you'd helped our quarantined fugitives escape from prisoner transfer."

Michelle shrugs. "They ditched me after I removed their implants." She pulls the small discs out of her coat pocket and drops them into his hand.

"And you have no idea where they are now?"

"Why would I?"

Mr. Shady gives a very small smile. "I see. And where were you when you were alerted to the emergency situation in Bay 3?"

"I stopped in the ladies room and then I headed to the lab to examine his latest blood samples." She sneers into his face and adds, "Feel free to check the tapes if you don't believe me."

"Very well." He looks over her head at the scientists. "Remove the implants and check them for data at once. I want to know exactly what organ crashed first, and why. Then prep the body for immediate autopsy."

"Immediate?!" Michelle asks, voice spiking. Mr. Shady gives her yet another studied look, and she clears her throat. "Sorry, I just don't understand why you're in such a rush. Since when do we autopsy a fresh giant corpse instead of taking the usual tissue and blood samples first?"

Mr. Shady smiles more broadly. "Since now." He puts his fingers to his mouth and whistles. "Move it! Edwards, see if you can extract any of the hydros venom. Thompson! Notify the lab…" His voice trails off as he walks on, barking orders with every step. Michelle and Tyler step closer to one another, both of them looking sick.

"Well?" Sam murmurs in Michelle's ear. "What the hell do we do now?!"

A flash of red hits them, and they shield their eyes until it dims down. When they can see, they look up at a monitor and see a vertical, red line from a laser guidance system now centered over Dean's chest. Then a droning, whirring sound screams down at them from above. Michelle, Sam, and Tyler all gulp and look up.

A gigantic buzz saw is being lowered from the ceiling.


	15. Dean Go SMASH

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal **(continued)

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

**A/N: **I know, it's been forever, but last month kicked me in the ass, and HARD. Got the flu, then my computer died, and then I had to get a new car. But I still wrote, so here's this chapter, and the next one will be up very soon. Big thanks as always to Katiki for the beta work. Hope this chapter was worth the wait!

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Chapter Fifteen: Dean Go SMASH

Tyler takes one look at that gigantic buzz saw and bolts toward Dean. "NO!" The boy pushes past two scientists, dives through a guard's legs, and dodges a grabby officer to get to Dean's side. "You can't hurt him!" he yells as he shoves past a tech. Then Tyler grabs hold of Dean's watch band and uses the holes as handholds to pull himself up to the top. He turns around and glares at the gathering crowd, holding his arms out to either side as a tiny, protective wall for the giant behind him. By now, Michelle has run up to the throng and pushed her way to the front. She motions for the guards to stay back, and then she looks up at the boy's fierce face.

"Tyler, please come down."

"I CAN'T, Meesh! They're gonna hurt Dean!"

"They won't hurt him," Michelle replies calmly. "He can't feel a thing, honey. It's only his body. Dean's de—"

"No, he isn't, don't SAY that!" Tyler cries.

"He isn't?" Shady Guy asks as he steps up to Michelle's side. Tyler freezes up as a look of abject fear crosses his face, like he just got caught doing something super especially bad. Shady Guy returns a corporate smile in turn. "It's all right, son, you're not in any trouble. Just tell me what you meant...why you're so upset over this." Tyler remains shell-shocked. Luckily, Michelle comes to his rescue.

"Quit goading the boy," she scolds Shady Guy. "You don't need to put him on trial just because he's grieving." Michelle looks back at Tyler and smiles. "Sweetie, we've been over this. Dean has passed on. He isn't with us anymore. I know it's difficult, but you have to let him go." Tears start to run down Tyler's cheeks, so Michelle moves up to Dean's wrist and holds out her hand. "Come on. Let's get out of the way so they can get back to work."

Tyler gives Shady Guy a nervous glance before he accepts Michelle's hand and jumps to the ground. She puts her arm around his shoulders. "Let's go wait in his car for now," she says as she leads him away. "I know you love her as much as Dean did." Tyler nods and brushes his tears away. Shady Guy watches them go. Tyler risks a glance back, sees that he's being watched, and starts to cry again.

"'M sorry," he whispers. "I blew it. I messed up everything cos I was scared for Dean."

"No, you didn't," Sam says, at his side but still invisible. "It's okay, Tyler. We're all scared."

Michelle opens the passenger-side door, and Tyler climbs in. "We won't let him get hurt," she tells him. "I promise. Just sit tight." Tyler nods, and Michelle shuts the door.

"What now?" Sam asks her. Michelle bends down to pretend to look in on Tyler before she responds.

"Now I play along while you wait until it's Go Time."

"Wait?" Sam whisper-shouts. "They'll have him cut open any second!"

"They haven't removed Dean's chips yet. If they don't come out, this will all have been for nothing. So just wait for your moment, all right?"

Michelle turns around and walks back, head held high, emotions locked behind a look of professionalism. She joins Shady Guy and the others and offers her apologies. "The boy was very fond of 19. He's having trouble accepting the truth." She pretends she doesn't notice Shady Guy studying her.

"So we are clear to begin the autopsy?" he asks. Michelle nods.

"Of course. I want to discover the cause of death as much as you do."

"Then you won't mind if we skip the chip extraction?" He leans into her face as he asks the question. "Doctor?"

Michelle keeps herself perfectly composed and looks him in the eye. "Why would I mind?" she challenges. Shady Guy raises his arm to hail the tech at the controls, but the rest of the scientists huddle around them in protest. They speak over each other as they make their points.

"Sir, we'll lose the data on the implant if we don't remove it before the autopsy—"

"—electric probe will activate from the bone saw touching the ribs—"

"Neck chip's a prototype, we don't want to risk losing it!"

"—sake of the program depends on that data, not another giant cadaver."

"All right!" Shady Guy snarls, waving his arms to silence them all. "Extract both the chips. But I want that saw in place for immediate autopsy. Is that clear?"

Everyone breaks away and gets to work. Shady Guy frowns at Michelle, who is still wearing her poker face, and he stalks off to supervise the saw calibration. Once his back is turned, Michelle releases the breath she's been holding.

_That was too close_, Sam thinks, standing a few feet away from her. Above him, the giant saw again begins to lower, blade whirling every few seconds as the controls are checked. Then someone bumps into him, and Sam maneuvers away as the suspicious soldier looks around for what he just hit. Sam stands perfectly still until the soldier is forced to move away. He and his team carry a massive strap of leather to Dean's left forearm, where they fling it over the top and attach it to a metal clasp built into the floor. Sam sneaks around the crew carrying the leather strap for the other arm, and then creeps up the stairs to the saw's control platform until he's standing directly behind Shady Guy and the technician.

"I want to start cutting the moment the neck chip is free," Shady Guy tells the tech.

"Sir, it's going to take me longer than that to enter in the commands and calibrate the machine. Plus the body is still clothed. Protocol states that no autopsy can begin before the cadaver is properly secured and prepared."

"Forget protocol," Shady Guy snaps. The scientists extracting Dean's data chip from his left hand all look up at his outburst, and Shady Guy yells at them to get back to work. Then he leans over the tech's shoulder and speaks much more quietly. "Just cut," he orders. "This won't be a real autopsy."

"What?" the tech asks—and Sam thinks.

"He isn't dead," Shady Guy utters—and Sam shudders.

_He knows. SHIT._The technician nearly backs into Sam as he steps away from the controls, looking mortified. "Then I'm not cutting—!"

"Shhhhh!" Shady Guy puts his hand over the man's shoulder and guides him back to the console, smiling to the world as if nothing is wrong. He leans in right next to the tech's ear. "You will proceed as ordered," he tells him. "If we fail to call Dr. Madigan's bluff, then we'll wound the giant enough to force him to stay here. Either way, we win."

It takes every amount of willpower for Sam not to snap the guy's neck right then and there. The technician is just as disgusted. He shoves Shady Guy off and says, "I'm not a torturer. I won't do this."

"You WILL, or you'll become Giant Number 20. Is that clear?"

The tech glares at his own reflection in the douchebag's polarized sunglasses. Shady Guy points at the joystick on the control panel, waiting, until the tech slumps past him and starts aligning the laser guidance system. Shady Guy nods and turns his shades to the two crews at work below. The data chip has been removed, and now all the scientists are gathered above the top of the giant's head. "What's your status?" he calls out to them.

"We'll make the incision as soon as the specialists get back," one of the scientists responds. Shady Guy grunts and checks his watch. Behind him, Sam checks his as well. He can't see it.

_Duh, you're still invisible. _Sam moves down the stairs, jumps over the bottom three, and sneaks behind a soldier to check his watch. They still have four minutes until the potion wears off. Shady Guy is barking hurry-ups at everyone in the room, and Sam swallows hard as he looks up at his brother's big, pale face. _Dean doesn't have four minutes. _

Sam runs alongside the immense body, sidestepping soldiers and scientists alike as he heads for the wall of computers along the back of the room. Just as he reaches Dean's right ear, the giant head starts to lift up, chin ducking down as the forehead rises. Sam looks around back and sees a flat, ramp-style jack is responsible. Sam catches sight of Michelle on the opposite side, standing near the men at the jack and looking nervous, though Sam can tell she's doing her best to hide it. Sam thinks about moving over to her and enlisting her help in finding the master controls, but decides against it. Too many people and too much risk of being discovered. Michelle looks in Sam's direction, almost as if she can see him, and starts to mouth something before she literally bites her tongue. Guards move up around her, not securing her, but standing there as a quiet but definitive warning. She's just as helpless to move as Sam.

_I'll figure something out, Meesh, _Sam thinks and promises her. But as he turns to take off, he finds himself surrounded by people as well, and he's forced to stay completely still. Then two men clad in orange jumpsuits, rubber gloves, and thick goggles step through the crowd and move up to Dean's neck. One of them is carrying a very long surgical knife, and in one swift movement, he cuts into Dean's skin, right at the hairline on his neck. "Stand clear," the other man shouts, and Sam is forced to move back when everyone else does. The orange men reach in, blood trickling down from the cut and pooling at their feet, and pull out a large, sparking box. It's shaped like a metal tooth, with electrical shocks flying out of the pointy 'roots'. Sam is beyond livid.

_THAT'S what you put in my brother?! _The men carrying the torture device place the crown end on the floor, and every crackle of light that shoots between the roots triggers anger and revenge plans in Sam. _Every one of you fuckers will pay for hurting him, _he thinks at them, dark energy churning deep in his belly. _I swear it. _As his eyes glare at one horror, his ears pick up another: the giant buzz saw overhead. He looks up and finds it stretched down and nearly in place, the whirling blade only a foot above Dean's grey t-shirt. Sam takes off at once.

"Are we clear to proceed, Doctor?" Shady Guy calls down to Michelle. She just nods and turns away, unable to watch. She hears the saw's arm lowering again, and a tear slips down her face as she repeats 'I'm sorry' to Dean over and over again in her head. She braces herself for the awful sound of metal on bone.

It never comes.

Instead, the saw cuts out entirely. The technician punches in commands, but nothing happens. Shady Guy pushes him out of the way to try it himself, only to watch as the entire console shuts down. Enraged, Shady Guy points to an officer. "Captain! Deactivate all orbs!"

The captain presses a button on a hand-held device, and several men appear in the room—including Sam, who is struggling to pull a large cable out of another machine. Sam looks at them all looking at him, but keeps pulling. "You!" is all Shady Guy is able to say before the sound of squealing tires fills the room. All eyes find the Impala growling at them as she barrels toward Dean. Sam spots Owen behind the wheel, looking terrified, and Bobby riding shotgun—HOLDING a shotgun, no less. Just before the car rams into Dean's side, she breaks to the left, and Bobby starts shooting up the computers along the walls. Personnel scatter in every direction, and Michelle and Sam use the confusion to run to each other and regroup.

"How can he sleep through this?" Michelle yells over the din of bullets, shouts, and an angry car.

"We still have two minutes left on the potion!" Sam yells back.

"Then we'll have to wake him up!" Michelle looks around and spots Dean's former neck implant. "There, let's try the shocker."

"What?! No! Forget it!"

But Michelle is already running over to it. "On his arm, not his brain!" she shouts back at Sam. "The shock should jolt him awake!"

Then they hear Bobby's yell to "DUCK" and they drop at once, avoiding the stream of flames that burst over their heads, courtesy of Bobby's flamethrower and another pass by the car. Then they hear Owen shout something in Welsh, and the fire turns solid, bursts into thousands of mini-chunks, lands on machinery all around, and turns to fire again. As the soldiers run around with blankets and extinguishers, Sam and Michelle make their way to the tooth-shaped shocking device. Sam still looks and feels uncertain about this, and Michelle catches it. "They've called in reinforcements, Sam, I'm sure of it. If we don't get Dean out of here now, there'll be too many soldiers in our way!"

Sam knows she's right, and he nods that he'll help. As the Impala charges and scatters more troops behind them, they pick up the box and make their way over to Dean's arm. The device is very heavy, and their pace is severely hampered by the weight. Luckily, their path is kept clear by a few grenades from Bobby and a spell from Owen that clogs every soldier's gun with glue. Once they're next to Dean's left elbow, Sam sets his half against Dean's arm so he can position himself behind the device. Without warning, the device lights up for a split second and sends shocks into Dean—and Michelle.

"No!" Sam catches her as she collapses. He rests her on the ground and feels for a pulse. He finds one, but it's thready. He hears someone chuckling nearby, and he looks up at Shady Guy, who is still lording his power over everyone on the platform.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to shut her up," he grins. Sam glares his hatred, and Shady Guy presses at the web between left thumb and finger, deactivating his control chip. Then the grin drops. "You didn't really think you'd get 19 out of here, did you?" Sam glares as Shady Guy shakes his head. "How very pathetic. All you've done is damaged a handful of easily fixable machines and bought yourself an extended stay in our prison block." He flicks a switch, and the saw's controls light up again. Shady Guy picks up the PA and announces, "Autopsy to resume in one minute. All crews back to stations."

"Hey, douchebag!" calls a little voice. As Shady Guy looks up, the Impala drives by, and Tyler, now in the back seat, chucks a pouch at him. He ducks, but the pouch lands and bursts open, pink sparkles floating down on all the soldiers beyond the platform. A second later, they all drop, uniforms deflating, and hundreds of bunnies crawl out from underneath helmets. Sam grins at Tyler and throws him a thumbs-up, while Owen drives over and the car screeches to a halt. Sam and Bobby rush Michelle into the back and prop her feet up over Tyler's lap.

"How'd you get out of the trunk?" Sam asks. Bobby chuckles.

"Dean rigged the back seat to bend forward in case he ever got trapped in there. Car thieves or whatever—said he could get the jump on them this way." Bobby finishes packing bags and jackets around the now well-immobilized Michelle. "He never told you?" Sam shakes his head. "Huh. Prob'ly figured you wouldn't care."

Bobby shuts the door and runs back around to the other side, leaving Sam alone outside the car. "I care," Sam says quietly.

Then a big door on the other side of the hanger-sized room opens, and more troops spill in through the opening and open fire. "Get moving, I'll get Dean!" Sam shouts. The car takes off, Bobby now switching to the sawed-off and their endless supply of rock-salt shells, while Sam makes a beeline for Dean's ear. But his own ear perks up at an awful sound: the buzz saw, metal blades screaming at top speed. Shady Guy is at the controls, laughing like a madman. Still running, Sam looks up at the saw itself. It's working, but the arm is stuck: it won't lower the final foot to begin the cutting. As Shady Guy swears his head off and wrestles with the joystick, Sam skids up to Dean's ear.

"Dean, wake up," he pants. Dean doesn't respond. Sam looks at his watch. They've passed the potion's time limit. "Come on, Dean," Sam urges, grabbing the earlobe and giving it a good tug. Dean moans through closed lips, and his head turns slightly toward Sam. His eyelashes flutter, but the eyes remain closed. Sam tries punching Dean behind the ear, but he hurts his own knuckles a lot more than his brother. Dean grunts, and Sam glowers. "Move your gigantic ass, Dean, we need you!"

"Mrrfllppble," Dean mumbles—whatever that means. Beyond them, the Impala is practically flying around the room, Owen barely keeping control of her as he skids her this way and that, throwing off every guard and guard-bunny he can. Sam grins as an idea comes to mind. He moves close to Dean's ear and speaks in a soft, consoling voice:

"Dean, Owen is driving your car." Sam pauses as Dean mutters something. Sam doesn't give up. "Well, if you call all that swerving around driving. He's had the tires squealing more than three times already." Now Dean frowns, eyebrows pushing his closed lids into cranky, wrinkly lines. "I, uh...I hate to tell you this, Dean," Sam says, going for broke, "but he just zoomed past some machinery, and I'm pretty sure he scratched the door."

The giant green eyes open at once.

As Dean starts to sit up, the saw connects with his amulet. Sparks fly as metal hits metal, and Dean glares. His right arm snaps through the leather restraint with ease, and he bats the arm of the saw away, sending the whirling blade into the platform. Shady Guy jumps over the side as the saw cuts straight through where he'd just been standing. Then the metal arm reaches its limit and the saw jerks back, turning sideways and slicing the surrounding machines in half. Dean snaps his other limb free and inspects his amulet for damage. Not a scratch. Then his vision swims. His head is filled with noise and packed with cotton. People yelling. Guns shooting. Machinery moving. Sam shouting his name.

Sam.

Dean looks down to his right and finds his little brother clinging to Dean's jeans and kicking at him. Behind Sam and closing fast is the buzz saw, now making butter out of everything on the floor. Dean grabs Sam and stands up, letting the saw circle, get stuck, and fall like a sharp-edged coin. As that noise finally dies down, Dean holds Sam up to his face for a look, but it's Sam who asks the requisite question:

"You all right?"

Dean turns his head, yawns, and as his sleepy eyes open again, he spots something that makes his little-boy smile appear. As Dean lets out a little chirrup of joy, Sam suddenly finds himself being grabbed and shoved down as Dean bends over. The floor comes up way too fast, and Sam holds his arms over his head, only to be stopped just above the floor, little bundles of fur right in his face.

"Look, Sammy! Bunnies!"

Sam shoves some of the former soldiers out of his face so he can say something without getting hare on his tongue. "It was a spell, Dean. These aren't really bunnies, they're—"

"Buh-huh-neees," Dean laughs as he sits down on his butt. He sets Sam down on his knee, then holds his palms together as a giant scoop and shovels all the bunnies up. He holds them up to his face and rubs his cheek against their fur, giggling as their ears and tiny, twitchy noses inspect his skin. "I won't let any mean witches get you guys, I promise," the giant kid tells them. "You're safe with me and Sammy, right Sammy?"

Sam can't believe what he's hearing. _Must be loopy from the potion. Better play along for now, and tease him like crazy about it later_. "Sure, Dean," Sam coaxes, patting his hand on Dean's huge knee, "we'll take good care of them. But first we have to get out of here, before the bad guys come back."

That big smile turns to a little frown. "Bad guys?" Then something sharp bites Dean in the finger. "AAARGH! SON of a BITCH!" Adult Dean is back in a flash as he glares down at his palm. A few of the bunnies have turned into soldiers, and they each strike their knives into his finger. Other bunnies start changing back too. "You're not bunnies at all!" Dean accuses as he opens his hands up and drops the 50-odd soldiers onto the floor. Then he sweeps his right arm and sends every one of them onto the former floor of his cell. He presses his pinky to what he hopes is the right button on the wall, and a loud warning BLEEP sounds out as the floor starts to lower. Dean gently takes Sam in his hand again as he stands up and glowers down at the soldiers. "That's what you get for toying with my emotions," he mutters. The cover slides over the new, square hole in the floor, and Dean again looks at Sam.

"You gonna be okay, big guy?" Sam smirks, rubbing Dean's thumb. "Or should I find you a nice blankie to cuddle until you feel better?"

"Shaddup, Sam..." Dean shuts his eyes and rubs at his once-again aching head, trying to remember what's going on. But other than the bunny trauma and the fact that he's a giant, it's all a blur. All he knows is that he's cranky, feels hungover and freakin' sore, and that there was something about his baby getting scratched. That gets his eyes open again, and as he sets Sam on his shoulder, he looks around for the Impala. He finds her almost instantly. She's facing down a tank on the other side of the hanger-sized room.

"Oh hell no."

The tank and the Chevy both jump twice as Dean runs two thudding steps up to them. He bends down on one knee, right next to the tank. "It's not polite to point," Dean reminds them, "especially when you've got my girl as your target. Back off if you know what's good for ya." The turret now moves so the gun is facing the giant and takes aim at Dean's heart. Dean rolls his eyes, reaches out, and pinches the huge barrel shut between his thumb and index finger. Then he grabs the gun and lifts the tank up like it's a toy. He holds it upside down and shakes it until the four soldiers inside tumble out. "It's mine now," Dean tells them, grinning dangerously. They take off at once.

"Dean!" Tyler yells from the Impala's backseat, and Dean sets the tank down and smiles at everyone in the car.

"Okay?" Dean asks them all. The three of them nod. Then Dean picks up the car for close inspection. "What about you, babe, you all right?" he asks her, rolling the car around as he looks over every piece of her.

"Check the car later, ya idjit!" Bobby yells from shotgun. "We're in the middle of an escape here!" Dean ignores him as he spots Michelle lying in the backseat, Tyler carefully holding on to her feet.

"What happened to Meesh?" he asks, worried.

"I shocked her," a most unwelcome voice answers. "And now it's your turn." Dean's head whips around and spots Shady Guy standing with a great host of reinforcements. Each soldier carries either a rifle or a shock gun, locked and loaded. Dean sets the car down as he glares at Shady Guy. Shady Guy glares right back. "Surrender, or we'll open fire, and not just on our biggest target."

Dean actually snorts—a bull ready to charge. Keeping his eyes on the enemy, he carefully removes Sam from his shoulder perch and sets him down next to the Impala. "What are you doing?" Sam asks, though he already knows the answer. Dean looks at Sam and lets his eyes give the silent order: Get in the car. Sam scowls at once. "No way. Forget it. You said no martyrs today, remember? I'm not leaving without you! Dammit, Dean, why do you always—"

Sam gets silenced as Dean wraps his hand entirely around his brother. Then Dean leans down on his side and puts his incredibly broad back to the soldiers. Sam is still yelling into Dean's skin as he's again set down next to the car. "Shut up!" Dean mouths. He points to the car. Sam crosses his arms and shakes his head no. Dean snaps and points to the car, glaring now. Sam flips him off and stays right where he is.

"Don't be a fool, 19," Shady Guy growls from behind. "This plan of yours was over before it began. Surrender now, and you'll all live. Refuse, and no one will."

Dean gives Sam a look of impatience, and Sam throws back a look of annoyance. Bobby knocks on the window and tells them both off, while Owen sinks down low behind the wheel. Shady Guy sighs loudly and yells at the captain to prepare the troops.

"I know what I'm doing," Dean hisses, again pointing to the car.

Sam stays put. "So do I! You're being reckless and stupid and you won't let me help!"

"Ready!" the captain shouts. Dean grunts his frustration and mouths "suit yourself" to his beyond-stubborn brother. Then he curls his enormous legs up so he's almost completely surrounding his car and her passengers.

"Aim!"

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam cries. "Move!" But Dean just pushes Sam away so that he's past the far side of the car. Sam looks scared. Dean just winks and, with a big grin, cuts the biggest fart the world has ever known. The order to fire never comes, as the captain, Shady Guy, and the men in the first two rows all groan, cough, and pass out, overwhelmed by the stench. Sam smells it too and covers his face, while inside the Impala, Bobby is shaking his head, Owen is still sunk low behind the wheel, and Tyler is clapping and laughing his head off. Dean just grins at all of them, especially Sam's deep glare.

"What?" Dean asks, eyebrows raised in innocence. "I tried to get you in the car so you'd be safe from the chemical warfare! You brought this on yourself, dude—"

Dean's gloating is cut off by noise, as the remaining troops open fire. The bullets hit Dean's thick skin like pebbles and ricochet in every direction, only making Dean wince from their stings. He motions to Sam and yells at him to "Find the exit!"

Sam points to the enormous hanger doors about twenty feet in front of them. "Think you can break through?" Dean doesn't answer. Sam looks back and finds his brother covered in lightning, as the soldiers with shock guns advance on him. Sam's eyes bug out in alarm, and he moves to do something, but Dean holds his hand out, begging him to stay put.

"Got...better...idea," he huffs out between cries. He reaches out to the tank he destroyed and channels the electricity into the metal. As the tank starts to melt from the heat, Dean crushes it into a ball, sits up slightly, and bowls it across the empty floor before him. It strikes the hanger doors and punches through to the outside. Then he grabs Sam, sets him on the roof of the car, and bellows "GO!" The Impala peels out to safety, Sam clinging to the roof. Dean tries to stand up to follow them, but the soldiers with rifles fire upon him again, now aiming at the same spot on his lower back. Their combined bullets start to dig in to Dean's flesh. He swats them away, but others appear by his right leg and start in on a new spot above his knee. Still others jam their shock guns into different parts of him. Dean finds himself overwhelmed by the pain, and he's soon on his back and writhing to be free of them. Soldiers swarm en masse, climbing up onto his chest and feeding shocks directly into his heart.

"Dean, shut your eyes and hold your breath!" Sam's voice says from nowhere. Dean does so, and a few seconds later, there's a bright flash of light. The moment it dies down, the gunfire takes on a much lighter sound, going from buffalo hooves to baby pitterpats. Dean cracks an eye open and sees a soldier directly in front of him, studying his shock gun. He shakes it and tries to fire again, but red licorice streams out instead of electricity. Behind him, a rifle now shoots jujubes. Dean sits up, brushing the candy and bad guys off of him, and scans the room. Every soldier has the same problem. Dean gives a 'huh' and grins, and Sam joins him at his side.

"Owen got a sweet tooth or what?" Dean asks, looking at the multicolored mess on the floor.

"It was either this candy spell or more bunnies." Sam smirks up at him. "And we know how you get with bunnies."

"Shut up," Dean tells him again. "They're soft," he adds under his breath. Then Dean scans the room and frowns. Every soldier is gone. Sam sees it too.

"That can't be good," Sam states. "Where do you think they—?"

Dean holds a shush finger to his mouth. "Tanks?" he asks himself. Sam shakes his head, not understanding. "I think I hear tanks," Dean tells him. His eyes search around for the source, and he locks his gaze on a wall. Picking Sam up, Dean stands and drops his little brother into his blue shirt pocket. They head for the wall.

"Dean, exit's that way, remember?" Sam asks and points.

"We're not done yet," Dean grunts back. Candy crunches under his big boots as he moves up to the side wall. Feeling his hands along the smooth surface, he comes across an extra smooth portion. He lays his hand upon it and feels cool metal.

"Just like in your cell," Sam says at the discovery. "Camouflaged the doors so you don't know they're there."

"Really makes you think, doesn't it," Dean comments. Sam looks up, confused, and Dean catches it as he searches for the doors' seam. "You know, think about how much you want to hurt these sons of bitches." Dean locates the seam and, resting his hands on either door, pries the metal doors apart until he breaks their locking mechanism. Then he smashes them into crumpled sheets and steps inside the new room. Dean and Sam find themselves facing row upon row of tanks and humvees. Some of the tanks have mobilized, gun turrets already moving into position, while other troops make a break for the nearest unmanned vehicle. One of the humvees aims its grappling hook cannon right at Dean's legs.

"Yeah, you should've just taken the exit," Sam grouses at him. A tank shoots an explosive, and Sam ducks into his pocket protector. The explosive hits Dean's firm chest and bounces right off. Sam looks back up when he doesn't hear anything blow up, and Dean both smiles and holds out the explosive in his palm.

"I told you, Sammy, we're not DONE yet." Dean throws the explosive like a fire cracker, and the resulting BANG! uproots several vehicles to Dean's left. Next, Dean grabs two of the unmanned tanks and, using their guns like handles, swipes the first row of tanks clear off the floor. As they crash into other tanks, Dean looks at the soldiers on the floor, each frozen in fear at or near another humvee or tank. "Leave," he orders them. They stay put. He takes a step forward and crushes a humvee under his boot. "NOW."

The soldiers retreat, and Dean storms through, destroying everything in his path. He throws his hand-held tanks and sends them hurtling through the heavy machinery near the front. Then he lifts up a triple-long flatbed truck over his head and hurls it at the other wall, where it drops, rolls, and sweeps other vehicles along the floor until they all crash together. Fires break out everywhere. Dean doesn't care. He's having too much fun dishing out all this payback. Kicking, stomping, crushing, flinging, he keeps going until everything is scrap metal. Then he cups his hand over Sam and his pocket, takes a running start, and smashes through to the outside. Two helicopters are getting ready to fly, so Dean picks up a parked black van and chucks it just over the top, clipping their propellers clean off. The propellers fly straight up and drop into the countryside beyond the building, while the pilots and gunmen evacuate and run off. Dean looks at his destruction and he can't help himself: he flexes his gargantuan muscles and roars in satisfaction.

"You are officially the worlds biggest dork," a little voice comments. Dean looks down at his brother, who is grinning up at him. Dean grins back.

"Dean go smash," he beams. "And Dean likey."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Can we finish escaping now? Please?"

The Impala beeps on cue. Dean sees her near the road and heads that way, looking back at the now burning building as he goes. It resembles a typical airport hanger: a very long, very high, windowless building with giant doors on the front. Another building, same height but only a fraction as long, is attached to it on one side, and it now bears the telltale scar of Dean's escape. A sign on the front of the hanger reads "Spire Air and Freight," and there are fake delivery trucks with the same logo parked near the side. Dean gives them an ounce of respect: from the outside, it looks completely legit. No one passing by would have any idea of the horrors that exist in the multi-level labyrinth in the ground below it.

Dean puts the building and his experience behind him as he steps up to the Impala. Then he bends over and sets Sam down next to Bobby, who is standing outside the car.

"How ya feeling, Destructor?" Bobby asks, nodding to Dean's still bleeding leg. Dean looks down at it and shrugs.

"I'll live. Meesh?"

"Still unconscious, but her pulse is much stronger. She'll be fine."

Behind him, the horn beeps several more times, and all eyes go to Owen as he leans out the window. "Can we PLEASE get away from this awful place now? I'd rather not be recaptured and tortured, thank you very much."

Dean nods and bends down to pick up the car—only to pause as his ears pick up something faint. Dean stands back up and listens.

"Dean?"

Dean doesn't answer Sam. His ears are too busy honing in on the sound of someone groaning in pain. Someone else is shouting out orders about injections. Dean spies another building sticking out behind the hanger. He starts walking.

"Dean?!?" Sam runs after his brother and tugs at Dean's pant leg, but Dean keeps moving, inadvertently dragging his brother along with him. "DEAN!" Sam shouts, hanging on to the denim for dear life. "What are you doing? Let's get out of here before they regroup!"

Dean plucks Sam from his ankle and places him back in his shirt pocket. "Can't leave yet, Sammy. He's here."

"Who?"

Dean arrives at the building—a slim white box of concrete, just a little taller than himself—and walks around it until he locates the tiny, human-sized door. "Hold on," Dean warns Sam. He looks down when Sam doesn't move. "No, really, hold on to my shirt. I don't want you getting smooshed." Sam, looking very wary now, does as he's told. Then Dean blows on his knuckles and punches his fist straight through the wall. Surprised shouts emanate from inside as Dean punches again, then kicks as well. A big hole finally breaks away, and Dean climbs through. The room is dark and tall but narrow, just like the building itself, layered with catwalks on every side. A small group of scientists and guards are stationed around something huge in the center of the room. Sam can't make it out, but Dean charges forward, and Sam is thrown to the bottom of the pocket from the force. He feels Dean's enormous arms reaching and pushing, while distant voices shout in outrage. When Dean falls still, Sam climbs up again and peers out.

He's face to face with another giant.

"Jeremy," Sam realizes. The young soldier is tied to a huge chair, his head drooped forward and eyes closed. Bruises cover his face and arms, and deep rows of scabs and open wounds band around his wrists, right at the restraints. Dean feels for a pulse on his neck.

"He's alive. Barely." Dean sets Sam down on the floor. "See if you can find the main switch for those doors." Dean points to the giant-sized doors across the room, themselves camouflaged just as all the others were. "I don't think I can fit both of us through the way we came in."

Sam runs to the machines, only now noticing that they're all intact. He looks around for the scientists and soldiers and finds them all caged behind a makeshift barrier of support beams and concrete—remnants from the wall Dean smashed through. While Sam searches for the big red button, Dean finishes untying Jeremy. The other giant moans softly, hands starting to shake. "Jeremy?" Dean asks, holding the kid's face with one hand. "You with me?"

Eyelids flutter open, exposing blue but bloodshot eyes. "Wha...who?"

"I'm Dean. I'm a friend of your mom's."

"Mom?" Jeremy takes a good look at Dean, and his eyes clear as he realizes his rescuer is another giant. "Got you too, huh?" Jeremy asks with a small, sad smile.

"Yeah, but now we're both getting out. Hold on." Dean leans in and picks up the soldier, heaving him over his right shoulder in a fireman's carry. The weight is crushing: Dean's legs shake as his back cries out 'why, Dean, WHY?' _Because I'm the only chance he's got at getting away from these bastards_, Dean tells the bodily complaints. _Rescue first, THEN bitching. Got it?_ He thuds to the giant doors. They're still closed. "Sam? Doors?"

"Locked," Sam replies from where he stands behind a console. "Need a password."

Dean frowns and sets Jeremy down on the floor. "Think I know what it is," Dean says as he walks up to Sam. "Stand back." Sam moves, and Dean slams his fist into the console, smashing it flat. The doors start to open. "Dean one, doors zero," Dean grins. Then the doors stall, only open a crack. Dean grumbles and puts Sam back in his pocket as he heads for the exit. He tries prying the doors like he did with the other ones, but these won't budge, not even when he puts his full strength into it. He slams his fists against them. "Dammit!"

Sam looks around the room. "Maybe there's a manual release somewhere?" He's no sooner spoken when the gigantic body around him hurls itself to the right. Dean is barging his shoulder against the door, over and over. "Come on," he growls, hitting it even harder. "Just a little more."

"Dean, stop it," Sam protests. "You're gonna dislocate your shoulder if you hit it any harder!"

Dean grunts and keeps going. "Not...leaving him here," he says between slams. "No one else...gets hurt. Ungh!" He backs up and slams again. "Come on!" And again. "COME ON!" As Sam is about to yell at him some more, he sees his line of sight shift upward. Dean is growing again, slowly this time. Each hit of his shoulder shoots him up about a foot. Dean just grits his teeth and keeps barging and growing. Finally, with a loud yell, Dean breaks through to the other side. He's wheezing from the exertion and is forced to bend over to catch his breath. A shaking hand comes up underneath Sam to keep him from falling out of his pocket.

"I'm fine," Sam swears, looking up with worry at his slightly bigger brother. Sam guestimates that Dean's shot up about ten feet more. "What about you? Any growing pains?" Dean shakes his head no as he straightens his back, his wheezes gradually turning back to normal breaths. Dean swallows his fatigue and moves back over to Jeremy, who has quietly passed out. Dean kneels down and starts to pick the other giant up. Sam sees Dean's face flush with red as he struggles with the weight and stands them both up. Dean can feel Sam's glare on him, and he glances down.

"Just till we're out of sight," Dean tells him. "I'll rest then. I promise." He takes a few unsteady steps before his badly-bleeding leg wobbles and he crumbles to his knees. Dean grumbles out an order to himself to get up, but his entire body is trembling now. Behind them, a warning siren blares to life, and Shady Guy's voice sounds out over the PA:

"Fire crews, secure the perimeter and get those damn fires out. Able-bodied soldiers must report to the main level immediately. Repair crews, get to work on the humvees and get as many up and running as you can. The giant is wounded and won't get far—"

"Watch me, asshole," Dean grunts over the rest of the announcement. Clenching his jaw shut, he stands back up and shifts Jeremy further up on his shoulder. Then he whistles for the Impala to follow. As Sam hears the engine start, he looks up at his brother with deep concern.

"Dean..."

Dean throws him a quick glare. "Don't say it, Sam. I'm not leaving him." He takes a step. "Meesh helped me. Least I can do is save her son." He takes another step, breathing hard.

"But you've lost a lot of blood," Sam argues. "And your body can barely carry you, much less another giant."

"I don't care."

Sam pounds at Dean's pectoral wall in frustration. "Look at your shirt, Dean! It's all sweaty, and you've only taken a few steps."

Dean takes a few more steps in sheer defiance. "I can do this, Sam," he swears. "Be nice if you believed in me just once."

Sam feels slapped in the face by the remark. "Come on, it's not like that. Dean—"

"Just sit tight and enjoy the ride," Dean tells him.

Worried out of his mind, Sam has no choice but to sink back into the cotton comfort, though he gets no comfort from it. Dean picks up his pace until he's thudding along at a near-normal gait, and the great heart pounds away behind Sam's back. He shuts his eyes and prays that Dean's determination doesn't end up killing him.

* * *

**A/N Additional:** I know, Shady Guy must PAY. And the boys will get their revenge before story's end, I promise. Just be patient, cos it's gonna be sweeeeet.


	16. Angst by Moonlight

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal** (cont.)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N: **Long chapter, lots of brotherly stuff. I'd really, REALLY love to hear your feedback on this one, so if you have time to review, please do! Say, that rhymed. Thanks a million jillion to Katiki for her beta-on-the-fly work this time around, and just as many thanks to all of you for reading!

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Angst by Moonlight**

A boxy SUV drives along a lonely road, winding through high, grassy hills on either side. Four teen girls ride inside, all looking around and feeling tunneled in by this section of the countryside.

"Why are we taking the really, REALLY long way again?" asks the girl in shotgun.

"Because I got a speeding ticket yesterday," the driver replies. "And out here, I don't have to slow down." She speeds up to prove her point. As they whip around a curve, they see the railroad crossing lights flash on up ahead, and the SUV skids to a halt just before the crossing. The hills are like vertical walls here, blocking the view from both directions.

"Great, a train," Shotgun complains. "Now we're gonna be late."

"No, it's GREAT that there's a train!" the girl behind the driver pipes up. "They don't slow down at this crossing—they just blow right through. There's nothing, and then _ERRRRRNNNNN_! It's awesome. You never know when it's coming."

"If you say so, Deb," the driver says, sharing an eye-roll with Shotgun.

They all sit back and wait, railroad lights flashing their growing impatience. "Come on already," Shotgun gripes. "I can't get drunk while I'm waiting for a—"

A black car zooms across the road running parallel to the tracks. Left to right—a black flash, and it's gone. Still no train. The driver puts the SUV in gear.

"It's broken," she tells the girls, creeping the vehicle forward. "We would've seen a train by now."

_Thud_

All girls look at each other with the same question in their eyes: What the hell was that?

_THUD_

The SUV jumps as an enormous boot clomps down on the track directly in front of them. The girls look up through the moonroof and see a giant man carrying another giant man over his shoulder. The SUV jumps again as a third _THUD_ erupts through the ground with the giant's next step. One more and he's out of view, disappearing behind the hills. The railroad lights go out, but the SUV just sits there idling, all four girls too shocked to move. Then Shotgun comes to and shouts, "Go, GO!" The driver guns the gas and they take off.

"That was a giant," Deb gasps. No one answers her. "You guys, we just saw a GIANT!"

"NO, we didn't," Shotgun snaps back. "We didn't see anything, all right? It was a figment of our imaginations." She looks the other three girls in the eye until they all nod. "Good. Let's just get to the party and drink till we forget."

"Why do we have to drink till we forget if we didn't see anything?" Deb sasses back. Shotgun glares at her.

"Shut up," the driver says. They ride in complete silence for a few minutes until everyone's nerves calm down. Then the fourth girl in the SUV finally speaks up.

"For a figment, he sure had a cute butt." They all look at her. "What? He did!"

They all nod but say nothing, and the SUV disappears into the country.

* * *

Two miles away, there are only three noises disturbing the otherwise quiet evening: the vroom of the Impala, Dean's thudding footsteps, and Sam's teeth grinding down to the gums. It was dusk when they left the military complex, and Dean had promised he'd only carry Jeremy until they were out of sight. Now it's nighttime, and as Dean has trekked on, sometimes in a straight line, sometimes in mile-wide circles, he's only stopped twice to shift Jeremy to the other shoulder. Sam doesn't have to imagine the pain Dean is in, because Sam can practically feel it himself, from the stress on the big heart behind him to the fatigue in the huge muscles and bones all around, as each step threatens to be the one to end him. Dean's pace has slowed considerably, but he won't stop. And Sam doesn't know how to make him stop.

Though he's still along for the ride in Dean's blue shirt pocket, Sam feels like he's a universe away—from Dean's attention, anyway. Every request, suggestion, and order from Sam to Dean to take a break has been completely ignored. Even "are we there yet?" earned only a half-grunt from his brother in reply. Bobby has tried as well, shouting from the shotgun side of the Impala that Dean can't handle this and that he's being as stubborn and stupid as their dad was. At one point Bobby even had Owen stop the Impala well in front of Dean. Bobby stood up on the roof and ordered him to take a breather "before ya keel over and it's your giant ass on the line—then what do we do? Paint ya green and disguise you as a hill?" Dean just stepped over the car and kept going. Sam yelled at him for that too, saying Bobby was right. Dean didn't even respond to that.

It's been over 90 minutes of this, and Sam's had it. He jumps and hauls himself up to the pocket's opening and peers out. Lights from some small town or suburb are glowing on the horizon, but in the immediate area, it's all thin forests and fields now that the hills are behind them. Dean's face is lit by the moon, illuminating his shiny, sweat-covered cheeks and his open mouth gulping in air.

"Dean…" Sam tries again, fraught with both worry and frustration. Dean swallows and shuts his mouth, but doesn't look down at him. "No one is following us," Sam presses. "We've gone far enough. We've probably walked into another state at this point. Don't you think it's time we make camp for the night?"

"We're not there yet," Dean mumbles back. Sam is so shocked that Dean actually spoke that he nearly falls back in the pocket.

"Not there yet?" Sam repeats. "Where are we going?"

"I'll know it when I see it."

Sam frowns. "Dude, you could have told me you were looking for something. I'm just sitting here doing nothing—I can help you look!"

"I can see farther than you," Dean grunts, looking ahead again. "Just sit tight, Sam. I'll stop when we get there."

_You mean you'll stop when you drop dead, _Sam fumes. He wants to crawl up to Dean's face and punch him between the eyes, but he doesn't. He thinks about jumping out, forcing Dean to stop for a second to catch him, but he doesn't, slightly afraid that Dean's so weak right now, he might miss. So he's elated when he sees the Impala's brake lights go on. The gravel road it's been following has reached its end at a metal barrier atop a low hill. Sam points to it. "End of the road, Dean. Maybe we should stop too?"

"Can't," is all Dean replies. As he passes the hill, he grabs the Impala and holds her with his free arm. He keeps walking. Bobby leans out of the still broken shotgun window and looks up at Dean's face.

"Boy, I'm about ready to shoot out your knee caps," he barks. "Least that way we don't have to wait for 'em to break on their own."

"Forget it," Sam calls down to him. "He's ignoring us cos he wants to kill himself."

"We are NOT gonna help you carry out your damn suicide wish!" Bobby yells up at Dean. Dean says nothing, just keeps walking. Bobby looks over at Owen. "Ain't there anything you can do about this?"

"Yes, but not without him dropping on top of us," Owen answers. "I'd rather not be squished, thank you."

Without warning, the car lifts up higher, and soon they see Dean's big green eyes checking in on the occupants in the back seat. "They're fine," Bobby tells him. "Both 've been asleep for a while now. Might want to follow their lead, son."

The big green eyes roll, and the car drops back down to his side, rattling everyone that isn't sleeping. Then the giant stops. It happens so suddenly that Sam, Owen, and Bobby nearly get the breath knocked out of them. Sam looks up at Dean, who is looking intently at something in the distance. Dean's eyes widen, and a smile creeps onto his face.

"There," is all he says. The others look ahead and see a big country estate house on a high hill, no other homes or hills around. Dean shrugs Jeremy up one last time and clods toward the house.

"That's the place you've been looking for?" Sam asks, bewildered. Dean nods.

"Yup, it's perfect."

"You do realize that we passed by nine farm houses. What was wrong with them?"

"They weren't perfect," Dean gruffs back.

"Uh-huh. Since when do we go for ritzy instead of adequate?" Sam frowns when Dean doesn't reply. "And what if the owners of that house are home?"

"They're out of town. Pile of newspapers on the stoop."

Sam checks it out and, now that they're much closer, sees that Dean is right. Dean sets the Impala down in the driveway, then walks down the hill and props Jeremy's back up against it at the bottom. The young soldier stirs in pain.

"Easy, Jeremy," Dean soothes. "You're safe. We're gonna get you some blankets, some food—maybe a beer if we're lucky."

"Mom…" Jeremy murmurs. "Is she really alive?"

"Yeah, man, she's alive. She's just resting. Soon as she's awake, we'll get you two reunited, okay?"

Jeremy nods and shuts his eyes, and Dean pats him on the shoulder. Then he stands and walks up the hill and back to the Impala. Bobby is already at the house, picking the front door's lock, and Owen is standing next to the car with Tyler, who is yawning and stretching.

"Hi Dean," Tyler sings, sending up a sleepy grin.

"Hey Tyler. Feelin' okay?" Dean smiles as Tyler nods and yawns, and Dean kneels down next to him. "Why don't you head inside and see if you can find some spare blankets, bed sheets, whatever, okay? We need to keep Jeremy warm." Tyler darts off at once, zipping past Bobby, who has just opened the door. Dean looks to Owen next. "Owen, would you mind checking on the food supply?"

"Anything I can't find, I'll conjure," Owen promises. "Reckon we could all do with some warm food in our bellies." He passes Bobby on his way up to the house, and Bobby exchanges a knowing, uneasy look with Sam, who is still in Dean's shirt pocket. Bobby no sooner steps off the walk when Dean grabs him and stands up.

"We need to talk," Dean tells them both. He walks them to the back of the house, which overlooks the hill, and sets them on the roof. Dean looks down at them both, huge face stern and eyes full and accusatory.

"Why don't you trust me anymore?" Dean asks. Bobby and Sam look at each other, then look back at Dean, who waits for an answer.

"Dean…" Sam sighs, and Dean holds his hand up.

"Don't 'Dean' me, okay? Just answer the question." No one does. Dean nods. "Uh-huh." He wipes his hand down his face and turns his back on them.

"We do trust you," Bobby tries, and Dean whirls on him.

"Really," he answers, flat and unbelieving. "Well you've got a funny way of showing it." Dean gestures to the house. "You wanna know why I picked this place? Because it has everything we need. I couldn't stop at a farm because the death squad back there already saw me hide behind a barn. They'd be expecting that. And I walked in circles to cover my tracks. And I avoided muddy areas so I wouldn't leave footprints. These are BASIC THINGS Dad taught me when I was Tyler's age!" Dean yells. "And yet all you two did was tell me to stop, take a break—give them a chance to find us and recapture us." Dean leans in real close and asks, "When do we EVER stop before we find the right place to lie low, huh?" He looks in their eyes, challenging them for an answer. "And when do we ever leave the victim behind?" he asks more quietly so Jeremy hopefully won't hear. "Never. Jeremy is no different."

Dean stands up straight, but keeps his eyes on Sam and Bobby. "I save people," Dean reminds them. "And I'm damn good at it."

Sam senses a chance to break in and says, "Yeah, Dean, you're great at it. But things are different now."

"How, Sam?" Dean asks, throwing his arms out to either side. "Because I'm a giant? Well whoop-dee-shit, little brother, so I'm a giant. I'm still ME." He gestures to his chest for emphasis. "Be nice if you two would keep that in mind."

"Knock it off, Dean," Bobby barks, "that ain't fair. We're just trying to look out for ya. That ticker of yours—"

"Isn't made for this giant stuff—yeah, I know, I've heard it a thousand times. Why do you think I was walking slowly? To keep a decent pace and not kill myself in the process." They look impressed. That just infuriates Dean even more. "Wow, Dean was using his brain. Can't have that."

Dean turns away and mutters a few things to himself. Owen chooses that tense moment to come out the back door.

"Soup's on," he calls up to them. "I'll even prep some growth powder to make it your serving size, Dean."

"No thanks." Dean looks pointedly at Sam and adds, "Believe it or not, I'm not hungry."

He grabs Sam and Bobby from the roof, drops them a little roughly on the ground, and stands back up again. "There's a stream in those woods down there," Dean informs them all. "I can hear it. Gonna get a drink and then bring some back for Jeremy. I sure hope that isn't me being stupid and reckless again." With that, he turns and thuds down the hill. Sam starts to go after him, but Bobby grabs his jacket and holds him back.

"Let him go, son. He needs some time to cool down. Meanwhile, we've got a mother and son to reunite."

Sam nods, and Bobby pats him on the back before he walks back to the car. Sam just stares after Dean. He can hear big trees falling and crashing in the nearby woods, and he's fairly certain it isn't Mother Nature at work.

For the first time in his life, Sam is afraid of his big brother.

* * *

After getting Michelle comfortable in an upstairs bedroom, the men all eat vegetable beef soup and buttered toast in the kitchen. They sit around a table, but no one talks. Tyler is the only one that seems to be happy, even though they just informed him he can't call his parents because the phones at Tyler's house are probably tapped. Tyler just nodded and sat down to eat. Soon the boy was eagerly munching away on toast and slurping up his food, though his mouth was usually too stuffed for him to say anything. His happy ignorance is still comforting the adults. It helps keep their minds off all the troubles around them.

Sam has absolutely no appetite, and if not for Bobby's insistence, he wouldn't have touched his food. Now as he stares down at his half-emptied bowl of soup, dabbing at a potato chunk with a corner of his toast, he hears Dean's scathing words echo through his head again. Sam has never seen Dean that angry. Never. Sam's boot taps on the floor, though it really wants to kick its owner in the ass instead. _I was trying to take care of him, _he tells himself yet again, but it falls just as flat as all the previous attempts at comfort. Sam had no idea that Dean was taking it all so personally. _Since when does he do that? Has he always done that? Shit…has he been doing that his whole life and I'm only just realizing it now? God I'm a dumbass…_

"Sam?"

Sam's eyes lift up to look at Tyler. The kid's head is nodding ever closer to his soup bowl. "Yeah Tyler?"

"Where's Dean gonna sleep tonight? He's too big for…" He pauses to yawn. "…a bed."

"He'll be camping outside," Bobby answers. "Don't you worry about him, Tyler. Dean loves the outdoors. Always has."

Tyler nods and yawns again, and Sam smiles. "Think it's time for you to hit the hay. You can take the room next to Meesh."

"Can I say goodnight to Dean first?"

"Sure."

Sam gets up to find Tyler a jacket, but Tyler walks over to the back door instead. He opens it and calls out at the top of his lungs, "GOOD NIGHT DEAN!"

"G'night Tyler!" Dean calls back from the bottom of the hill. It's the first time they've heard him speak since he stormed off. Other than when he came back up to gather the extra blankets (all grown to giant size by Owen) and take them down to Jeremy, they haven't seen him, either.

"ARE YOU GONNA BE WARM ENOUGH?" Tyler hollers. "YOU GOTTA STAY WARM OR YOU'LL CATCH A COLD! MY MOM SAID SO!"

"I got a fire going, I'll be fine," Dean calls back, and they can all hear the smile in his voice. "Sleep well, kiddo. See you at breakfast."

"OKAY! OWEN PROMISED US WAFFLES!"

"Awesome!"

Tyler shuts the door and strides through the kitchen, happy. Once they hear him scamper up the stairs, Sam pushes his chair back to the table.

"I'll get his bed ready," he says as he stands up. Bobby stands as well and follows him out of the room, leaving Owen alone.

"Oh no, let me do the washing up, I insist," he sighs to no one. As Owen starts clearing the table, Bobby catches Sam on the stairs and tells him to wait. Sam doesn't say anything, just looks down at his old friend. Bobby nods.

"I know. I'm worried about him, too."

"I really screwed up this time," Sam says in a low voice.

"We both did. Not that your brother is completely innocent or anything, but still…guess we're both so used to him bouncing back…" Bobby breathes out a sigh through his nose. "You gonna try and talk to him again?"

Sam shrugs, thinking back on his attempt to do just that. He went down the hill and called Dean to supper, but Dean wouldn't look at him, much less speak to him. "Should I bother?" he asks Bobby. "Seems like anything I say will only piss him off even more."

"He'll come around," Bobby replies, offering a small smile. "Just gotta wait for that legendary Winchester Stubbornness to let go." Sam smirks a little, and Bobby nods again. "You check on Tyler. I'll look in on Meesh—see if she feels like waking up yet."

The two of them go up the stairs, and Sam turns into the last door on the right. Tyler is in bed, his shoes and socks on the floor. "You SURE Dean's all right?" Tyler asks as Sam walks in.

Sam smiles sadly at the question. "I don't know," he admits as he sits down on the bed. "We had a little fight, and now he won't talk to me."

Tyler yawns. "Probably cos he knows you won't listen."

Sam does a double take. "What do you mean?"

"You guys keep treating him like he isn't there," Tyler says. "Like back when Meesh was gonna tell us her story. You didn't even make room for him to sit with us till I toldja to."

"But everything we did—the potion, the plan, the escape—that was all for Dean," Sam argues.

Tyler looks right at him, brown eyes clear and bright. "But you're not treating Dean like he's still Dean," Tyler tells him. "When Dean lied down to shield all of us, you didn't listen. That's why you were still outside when Dean ripped that awesome megafart." He grins for a moment while he remembers it. Then his eyes lift up to Sam's once more. "Why didn't you trust him, Sam?"

Sam's face is cloudy as he replies, "I was scared he was going to give himself up to keep the rest of us safe. He does that. A lot." Sam shakes his head and looks at the window. "I couldn't let him do that again. Remember what I told you about when we were kids? How Dean was hurt but wouldn't tell anyone?" Tyler nods. "He still does that. I have to care for him, cos he won't care for himself."

"If you care about him, why'd you call him stupid?"

Sam looks back at Tyler. The brown eyes are narrowed. "Dean's not stupid. I'm only 9 and I can see that." Sam blanches, and Tyler sits up. "No one likes being called stupid, y'know. Promise me you won't call him that again." He holds his pinky out, eyes so full of authority that Sam feels like he's looking at a little general. Sam wraps his pinky around Tyler's and they swear on it. "Good."

There's a quiet knock on the door frame. "Meesh is waking up," Bobby tells Sam.

"Okay, I'll be right there."

Bobby nods and moves off, and Sam sighs. Then he feels two little arms wrap around his neck and right shoulder. "S'okay, Sasquatch Sam," Tyler says as he pulls away from the hug. "We all make mistakes. I forgive you." He lies back down and adds, "I'm sure Dean will too."

"Thanks, Tyler," Sam smiles. Tyler nods, yawns, and shuts his eyes.

Sam quietly moves out of the room to let the boy get some sleep. He walks to the room at the end of the hall, just to the right of Tyler's, and leans on the doorway as Bobby sits down next to Michelle. Her eyelids flutter and crack open.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," Bobby smiles. Michelle gives a sleepy grin back.

"Could get used to waking up to that handsome face," she purrs. Bobby chuckles. "What happened?" Michelle asks.

"We got Dean out—he's fine. Right now we're hiding out at some la-ti-dah country house. How's the noggin?"

"Fine. Well, got a migraine to end all migraines, but I'll live." She sits up, and Bobby slings an arm around her shoulders.

"Got a surprise for you," he winks.

"Does it involve you, a hot tub, and a helluva lot of Cool Whip?" she winks back. Sam squirms, uncomfortable, but Bobby just chuckles again.

"Better."

"Better?"

"Much." Bobby nods to the window. "Look down there."

They had chosen this room for Michelle for just this moment: it had an unobstructed view down the hill. Michelle leans over to look out, and she sees a large campfire. Dean is next to it and tending to another giant. A giant with jet black hair and a birthmark on his neck she'd know anywhere. Her hand comes up a second too late to cover her gasp.

"Oh my God."

"Dean found him when we were escaping," Sam explains.

"Oh my God!"

"Carried him all the way out here," Bobby adds.

"Then Dean gets dibs on the second hug," Michelle chimes. "First one goes to my son!"

Michelle jumps to her feet and nearly falls flat on her face. Bobby catches her just in time. "Whoa! Easy—you had a shock to your whole body back there, remember? Your boy ain't goin' anywhere. Let's take our time so you don't break your leg on top of everything else."

"Let's go, let's GO!" Michelle cries, happy tears already flowing down her face. Bobby helps her down the stairs, Sam following behind. Once they're outside and on the grass, Michelle slips away and starts running toward the hill. Once she's at the top, she catches Dean's eye, and he smiles.

"Looks like you've got a visitor, Jer," he says, nodding up over the young soldier's head.

Jeremy turns and looks, and mother and son share mile-wide grins. Michelle can't even say his name—just lets out a little squeal as she heads down to him. Jeremy scoops her up halfway down and gently hugs her close. They're both crying.

"They told me you were dead," Jeremy whispers. "Fuckers."

"Told me you were out here somewhere, but that I'd never see you again unless I played nicely," Michelle replies. "Fuckers."

Dean stands up to let them have some privacy, but Michelle yells at him to wait. Jeremy holds her out in his palm, and she waves to Dean to come close. She kisses him on the cheek.

"Thank you, Dean," she says. "I can never, EVER repay you for this." She starts crying again as she says, "Thank you for saving my son."

Dean gently brushes the tears away with his finger tip and smiles at her. "It's what I do." He looks up at Sam for a moment before he turns and heads back toward the woods.

"Dean, wait," Sam yells, already running down the hill after him. Dean stops and turns around as Sam jogs up to his boots. Sam doesn't say anything right away, so Dean folds his arms and waits.

"Are you all right?" Sam asks at last. Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam says, "I'm serious, Dean. Just tell me." Dean's head bobs back and forth in a 'yeah, I guess' manner, but he still doesn't say anything. "Dean…" Dean turns away again at his name. "I'm sorry, all right?" Sam yells at him. Dean doesn't reply or look back. Sam watches his big brother disappear into the woods. He really wants to follow and square things with him, but at the same time, he doesn't want to make things even worse. With a heavy sigh, he slumps back up the hill and toward the house.

"It's gonna be a long night," he says to himself.

* * *

Sam is still awake long after everyone else has fallen asleep. Even Meesh and Jeremy have nodded off—or seem to have, as Sam can no longer hear them talking about Meesh's double agent work or Jeremy's year on the run and subsequent recapture. Sam tries yet again to find a comfy sleep position, but his body is too restless, and his mind refuses to shut up.

_What if he's hurt What if he's still angry What if he never wants to speak to me again?_

His ears keep straining for any sound from his brother. There's nothing but painful silence.

Sam flips over and slams his head onto the pillow. _Fix it in the morning, _he tells himself. _Get some sleep or you'll be crabby later on and you'll probably say something that pisses him off all over again. _

He pulls the other pillow over his head for good measure. He forces those eyes shut. Forces his breaths to even out. Forces his muscles to relax…relaaaaax.

Sleep starts to overtake him. Sam lets it.

Then a distant cry of "No!" has him jolting wide awake again and sitting up.

"Dean?"

Sam hears something big crashing through the trees, so he looks out through his window, straining to see anything out there. He's got the room at the top of the stairs, so he can't see right down the hill like Meesh could. Not that it matters, anyway: Now that the moon has disappeared behind the clouds, he can't make out a thing.

Heavy footfalls are approaching. Sam expects the house to start vibrating, but it doesn't. Sam turns on the light by the bed and presses his face to the window, almost desperate to see his brother. But it's all darkness. Nothing but darkness.

Then a giant green eye is RIGHT THERE, lit up by the lamp and taking up the entire window frame. It's so unexpected that Sam jumps back, falling off the bed and right on his ass. "Ow." He looks back up at the window, but the eye is gone. Sam gets back on the bed and back to listening.

Two more footsteps sound out…then a pause…then the doorknob being rattled. Rattle rattle "sonuva!" rattle. BREAK…soft thump. Fabric moving. Fabric sliding. Then tap—the door to Sam's room creaks open, courtesy of a flick from a huge hand. It reaches in, big fingers feeling along the floor until they find the bed. Then pat pat on the bed…pat pat on Sam's leg…quick smoothing motion from his knee to his foot…then Sam is gently enveloped by that hand and lifted out. Seconds later and he's outside, being crushed to death via giant hug.

"You're okay you're okay you're okay," Dean breathes from above. Sam pounds his fists against Dean's grey tee.

"Dean! Can't…breathe…!"

"Shit, sorry." Dean pulls him away at once. Sam waves both thanks and that he's all right, and Dean brings him right back in, though this time he gives a much gentler hug. Sam smiles, partly in shock, mostly in relief, and hugs back what little of Dean he can.

"Looks like I was right about you becoming a cuddler," Sam quips. Dean chokes out a laugh and holds Sam out in his palm, and Sam is shocked to see tears on Dean's face. Sam's smile drops at once. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dean answers, rubbing his face dry with his sleeve. "Sorry, I just…here." He bends over to set Sam back down.

"No, Dean, wait."

Dean lifts Sam back up, and when Sam hits him with the puppy eyes, Dean looks away.

"I, um…" Dean clears his throat, still looking at everything but his brother. "I had a nightmare. Really fucking vivid one where, uh…" Fresh tears leak down his face, and Dean's eyes shut tight. "I killed you, Sammy."

Sam's guilt conjures up an image of Dean strangling him, repeating much of the same angry speech he'd smacked Sam with earlier; his own mind meting out the punishment he knows Dean never will.

"It was an accident," Dean says. Sam looks back up and into Dean's earnest face. "I swear it was an accident—you know I'd never hurt you, right?" Sam tries to speak but he can't find the words, too upset at seeing his brother so unusually emotional. "Oh fuck, you do think I'd hurt you," Dean murmurs, voice as watery as his face. He sets Sam down at once. "I'll stay away from you, all right? I promise. You'll be safe that way."

Dean turns to leave, but Sam is yelling at him to wait again. "I don't think that, all right?" Sam swears to him. "I know you wouldn't." Dean nods, though Sam can tell he doesn't fully believe him. Sam swallows hard and asks, "You, uh…you don't really think that I think you're stupid, do you?"

Dean's mouth turns down slightly, but he doesn't answer. Sam nods and knows that he himself is giving back the same look of slight disbelief. So he turns to look at the house and notices that the front door has been completely removed. He frowns as he looks up at the top floor, picturing the layout of the stairs, his bedroom, and the walls on the first floor. "How did you…?" Sam is wriggling his arms into every different angle, trying to figure out how Dean managed to get his hand up there. He hears Dean chuckling softly. "What?"

"I'm trying to decide if you're doing the robot or walking like an Egyptian."

Sam sends up a bitchface in reply, of course. Then a light goes on upstairs: Bobby's room, the only one facing the front. "Maybe we should…"

"Yeah," Dean finishes. "One sec."

Dean props the door back into place, and then picks Sam up and carries him down the hill and back into the woods. They stop at a clearing, where a stream runs through an area of soft grass and mossy folds in the ground. Dean sets Sam down on a log, and Sam takes a seat as Dean sits down on the ground, stretching his immensely long legs out into the woods. Sam sees the bloodstain on Dean's jean and kicks himself for forgetting about Dean's leg wound. But Dean sees him looking and shrugs. "Meesh took care of it." Sam nods, glad, and has a look around at where they are. The calming roll of the water and the natural hush from the trees soon have him relaxed.

"Peaceful," Sam comments, smiling. Dean smiles as well.

"Yeah, knew I'd be making camp here as soon as I found this stream." He reaches behind him and produces a giant quilt. "Borrowed it from Jeremy," Dean tells him. "He had seven. Figured six would still keep him comfy." He unfurls the quilt and whips it to straighten it out, and the resulting gust of wind blows Sam right off the log. Dean catches him just before he hits the stream. "Sorry," Dean murmurs as he sets Sam back down. They look at each other for a moment before Sam clears his throat.

"I'm sorry, Dean. About earlier. About everything."

Dean nods. "Okay."

Sam frowns. "Okay?"

Dean nods again. "Yeah, okay. Apology accepted. G'night." He pulls the blanket up and lies down on his back, hooking his right arm behind his head as a pillow.

"Just like that," Sam asks flatly.

"Yup."

"Are you really okay or are you just saying okay so we don't have to talk?"

"Mrm."

"That wasn't a word, Dean."

"Zub."

Sam rolls his eyes and, with a sigh and a grunt, climbs up the quilt to Dean's chest. Then he walks up the broad expanse until he's in front of his brother's face. Dean has his eyes shut.

"For the record, I don't think you're stupid," Sam begins.

"Sam…"

"I don't think you're weak, either."

Dean's eyes open a crack. "C'mon, man, I'm tired," he begs. "And I'm really sore. Head-to-toe hurt. I just want some sleep." His eyes close again and he resettles himself.

"I've always felt so helpless when it comes to helping you," Sam says. "It sucks." Dean utters a low groan. Sam ignores it and sits down in the center of a giant quilt square of a sleeping kitty. "I mean, you help me, Bobby, everybody, over and over. But when you're the one that needs help…I dunno, man, I just never get it right."

Dean just breathes, and Sam gently rises and falls with the huge, moving chest. "Why do you think I fought with Dad so much when we were kids?" Sam asks. "I was too little to do anything, but I could stick up for you by speaking up against Dad. Especially when you wouldn't stick up for yourself, which was every day ending in a 'y.'" He pauses for a reaction, but Dean just breathes some more. "So that's what I did. Made me feel like I wasn't completely useless, y'know?"

More breathing. Up and down, up and down. Sam stares at those closed eyes as he continues to speak.

"Well lately I've been feeling useless again. And talk about feeling little…dude, you carry me around in your POCKET. If that's not the way to feel about as big as a speck…" Sam shakes his head. "It's just frustrating to not be able to help. I can't help you carry the load. Can't help you fight. Can't help you recover. Can't even help you with the cure. All I get to do is sit here and watch you suffer. It's like we're kids all over again. Only now, I'm not just the little brother, I'm the micro brother." He sighs. "So I'm doing what I always do: speaking up. Like earlier, when you were rescuing all of us and you wouldn't set Jeremy down." Dean's nostrils suck in a deep breath, his chest puffing out in anger. "I didn't say that cos I didn't trust you, Dean, and I especially didn't expect you to abandon Jeremy! I was just trying to get you to take a break for a minute because I KNEW that you'd never let yourself HAVE a break. You never do. Everyone else comes before you, right?" The air drops out, and the normal breathing resumes. Sam shakes his head at his big brother. "Not in my book. You're first, Dean. Always will be."

Sam waits for Dean to speak, sigh, grumble…anything. He gets no reply. "I'll let you get some sleep," Sam mutters, and he stands up to leave.

"I had to prove myself," Dean says quietly. Sam turns around and finds Dean looking at him. "It's why I didn't take a break," Dean continues. "I had to show you and Bobby that I could still do this." He gives a sad little "heh" as his eyes look up at the night sky. "I sorta had to show myself, too."

Sam sits back down on the kitty square and waits for Dean to go on. "I'm scared, Sammy," Dean confesses, still not looking at him. "I could really be stuck like this. The last few times I've been asleep and got my Hydros Vision on, I couldn't see a damn thing. It's just dark. What if we don't find it? Then Owen can't make his cure—if the cure even works, and knowing my luck, it won't." Dean squishes his eyelids shut for a moment, like he's riding out a tension headache. "Talk about feeling useless," he murmurs. "At least you can still hunt, with or without those demon powers of yours. Preferably without…" He says the last part under his breath, but Sam still catches it, and Dean knows it. Dean clears his throat and holds up his free left hand. "Look at this thing," he says. "Can't shoot a gun with it. Can't throw a knife. Can't even open a car door." He lets it drop on the ground. "It's too big for almost everything. I'M too big." The green eyes fall back on Sam. "But I can still save people, Sammy. I proved it tonight with Jeremy." He nods to himself, confirming his own words. "I'm still good for something."

"You could use those big hands to carry people to work," Sam muses. "Be your own mass transit system."

"Yeah. No." They both give each other smirks, and Sam stretches his legs out in front of him.

"You're good for lots of things, you know," Sam tells him. Dean dismisses it with a scoff, but Sam just smiles. "It's true. 'Course, you're also still really good at selling yourself short." That gets him a crooked eyebrow. Sam face grows serious in reply. "Strength isn't defined by your ability to shoot a gun, or throw a knife, or open a car door. It comes from character. It's what's in your heart."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Dude, enough with the Care Bear stare…"

"I'm serious, Dean." Sam waits for the smile to drop from Dean's face, and when it does, Sam looks him in the eye. "You're the strongest guy I know. Most people would've crumbled from the weight of all the shit you've been through. You've even been to Hell and back, Dean. I never would've made it past those chains on the first day."

Dean's brow puckers. "Chains?"

"Yeah, all those meat hooks and chains, and the welcome the demons…gave…" Sam nearly swallows his tongue as he realizes what he just let slip. Dean's eyes are swirling with fear, and Sam has to look away, unable to bear it.

"How do you know about that?" Dean whispers. Sam still won't look at him. "Sam?"

"Back in your cell…you had a really bad PTSD attack," Sam says. "And Owen's got his mind stuff, so he was seeing what you were seeing…in his head. And it was too much, so he fell and when I caught him…I saw it too." Sam chances a look up at Dean, his entire body shaking at this confession. "I lived it," he says, voice just as rattled. "I was there. I was…I was you."

They stare at each other in utter shock. Then Dean looks away as he brings his free hand up to swipe his eyes clear of any forming tears. "How, ah…" Dean sniffs and then scratches at his nose. "What else did you see?"

"Nothing, Dean, I swear. Just the one memory. Owen passed out right after you were..." Sam can't say it, so he just shakes his head. "Connection broke right away." Dean closes his eyes, and Sam can feel a slight tremor running through the giant body. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Sam swears. "I'm sorry it happened at all—I didn't know it would—"

"It's all right," Dean replies softly, shiny eyes peering at Sam once more. "I'm sorry you had to see it. Any of it..."

The brothers both look down at the quilt. Dean runs his huge fingers along the upraised square of two children making a sandcastle. Sam traces his much smaller digits along the outline of the kitty. Then Dean breaks the silence by coughing into his fist.

"Well, as long as we're sharing secrets…" Dean scratches at his hair as Sam looks up at him. "Remember when I was trying to bust down the door so I could get Jeremy out?

"Yeah, you grew and then you broke through."

Dean nods. "Yeah, about that. I think…I did that." Sam looks perplexed, so Dean clarifies, "It wasn't like the other growth spurts. It didn't hurt for one thing—that was nice. And I didn't get the blinding headache as a warning, either. I just grew." Sam just sits there, looking stunned now. Dean's face turns away. "Say something, dude."

"Well, I just…" Sam's head is shaking slowly back in forth in a slow-motion 'no.' "I mean…are you saying you grew…on your own? On purpose?"

Dean shrugs, keeping his face turned away. "All I know is that I was thinking how I was that big, but I still wasn't strong enough to bust through. And I thought, if I was just a little bit bigger, we'd be out of there easy. And then, I don't know…it started happening." He glances back at Sam now. "What do you think that means, Sammy?"

Sam opens his mouth to answer, but a yawn comes out instead. "I think it means we can worry about it in the morning," he murmurs at length. Dean smiles and nods, looking very relieved. Sam stands up and stretches. "See ya."

"No, wait!" Dean shouts, and Sam stumbles when he's smacked by the sound. Dean apologizes with his eyes and lowers his voice. "Could you, um…" He looks at Sam, then looks at the quilt, then looks up at Sam again. Sam smiles, and Dean looks at the tree next to him. "I mean, if you don't mind…"

"Sure," Sam answers. Dean smiles back.

"Hang on, I'll make you a little bed of your own." He starts to sit up.

"No, wait!" Sam shouts. He motions for Dean to lie back down, and once Dean complies, Sam jogs up to Dean's blue shirt pocket and lifts it up like a tent flap. "I'll just stay here. I mean…if YOU don't mind."

Dean nods that it's fine but asks, "What if I roll over and crush you?"

"You won't." Sam smiles warmly. "I trust you."

Dean rests his head back, and Sam snuggles into his makeshift sleeping bag. "You do realize that we just had the world's biggest chick flick moment," Sam grins.

"More like a full-on girlie slumber party," Dean snorts. "Sorry, Sammy, but I'm drawing the line at helping you with your hair and make-up."

"Fine, then I'm not painting your toe nails."

Both boys grin, and then both boys yawn. "Night," Dean says.

"G'night Dean." Sam shuts his eyes. A moment later, he feels something rest on top of him. He cracks one eye open and finds Dean's left hand there, gently blanketing him on top of his pocket sleeping bag. Sam relaxes at the comfort. He's asleep within a minute.


	17. Here Skippy Skippy Skippy

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal** (cont.)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Sorry for the slight delay with this chapter, but it gave me a lot of trouble. I hope it turned out all right. Only two chapters to go in this crazy tale! Then I contemplate writing the sequel, heh… Thank you all so much for the reviews and the feedback—it all truly makes my day :) And super-mega-huge thanks to Katiki for her awesome beta-ing. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: Here Skippy Skippy Skippy…**

The morning sun hits Dean's face, sunbeams working hard to pry those sleepy eyes open. But Dean keeps them shut, straining to see any detail in the murky waters around him. _Come on, _Dean thinks to the hydros, _show me where you are. _But there's nothing to see. The view is pea soup fog mixed with runny ink, and the snake monster is quiet as it swims through the dark in slow circles. _Like it's waiting for something. But what?_

Dean sighs, frustrated, and his attention rises away from the dream and up into semi-consciousness. Birds are chirping like little, feathery alarm clocks, their saccharine songs intermingling with soft snores. _Aww, Sammy snores, _Dean smiles. _He's kinda cute when he's so teeny. Like a little mouse. A little, bitchy mouse, heh. _

He starts to picture Sam with whiskers and big, round ears sticking out of his mess of dark hair when he hears a peculiar snap. He's fully alert at once. So is the little mouse—er, brother—in his shirt pocket. Dean cracks an eye open and watches Sam slide out and stand up, his jackknife already in hand. Sam searches the woods for the slightest movement, oblivious to the obvious breathing Dean can hear from someone hiding not ten feet away. Sam keeps perfectly still, waiting for the thing to make a move, and Dean rolls his eyes, reaches out to his right, and plucks the would-be attacker from behind a shrub.

"Again, Bobby?" Dean groans as he drops the hunter onto his chest. Sam whirls around and faces them both.

"What do you mean 'again'?" Sam asks Dean.

"He came out here three times last night to check up on us."

Sam blinks at him. "You heard someone creeping up on us during the night and you didn't wake me?"

"What for, Sammy? I had it covered." Dean pats his huge palm on Sam's little head. "I protected you from the mean ol' Bobby monster."

"Monster," Bobby grumbles, straightening his shirt. "Well excuse me for bein' concerned and making sure you two chuckleheads were all right."

"Right, concern—that's why you just took a picture of us." Dean gives Bobby a knowing look as his old friend frowns up at him. "Don't deny it, dude, I heard your phone's camera click."

Sam slips behind Bobby and grabs the cell out of his hands, grinning right along with Dean as Bobby mutters at both of them for being too smart for their own good. Sam glances at the picture and shakes his head. "Too bad it didn't turn out," he says as he hands the phone back. Bobby has a look for himself. Sure enough, the screen shows Sam's tiny head resting atop a solid cloud of fog. "Dean doesn't show up in pictures right now," Sam explains. "I tried taking a pic with my phone back at the mattress warehouse. Same deal."

Dean sits up on his elbows. "Why does everyone want a picture of me all of a sudden?"

"Blackmail," Bobby and Sam say together, without hesitation. Dean scowls at them both. "You just looked so cute with your widdle Sammy doll tucked in your pocket," Bobby coos.

"That's nothing. You should've seen him hugging the Impala like a teddy bear and drooling on her hood."

Dean is outraged. "I. Did. NOT."

Sam throws him a very toothy grin. "You did. And I'll never let you live it down, Drooly."

Dean rolls his eyes again and sits up all the way, making Sam and Bobby tumble down his chest and onto the rumpled quilt. Dean ignores their complaints as he looks over the blanket. "Hey, it didn't shrink," he comments. "Why didn't it shrink?"

"You can ask Owen at breakfast," Bobby answers, sliding down to the ground. "He's in the kitchen right now. Tyler's helping him get everything ready."

"Awesome, I'm starving." Dean grabs Sam and stands up, placing his little brother on his shoulder as he walks. Bobby jogs on ahead, and as Dean emerges from the woods, he finds Jeremy and his mom still at the bottom of the hill. Jeremy is sitting upright, chest bare, and Meesh is on Jeremy's shoulder, holding a bucket in one hand while smearing something onto Jeremy's neck with the other. Dean grimaces and comments, "Ugh, your turn with the ox dung, huh?"

"Not ox dung," Michelle tells him. "It's a salve Owen mixed up to help ease the pain."

Dean looks at Jeremy with sympathy, knowing all too well how much this giant gig hurts. "You feel anything yet?"

"Other than my skin being cold and sticky? No." As Jeremy says it, Michelle takes out another glob and dabs it on her son's shoulder. "I could do that myself, y'know," Jeremy says as he squirms, clearly uncomfortable. Meesh tugs on his huge ear to keep herself upright.

"Yeah, you could," she snaps back. "Instead you're gonna sit still and let me do some mothering!"

"DEEEEAAAAN!" a familiar little voice calls, and Dean and Sam both look at the top of the hill. Tyler is standing there, excited as can be to see them. He takes a running start and shouts "Catch me!" as he jumps off the hill. Dean holds out his palm and easily catches the little boy, but instead of setting the giggling kid down, he rolls him onto his free shoulder.

"Super somersault slide, you ready?" Dean grins. Tyler curls into a ball, and Dean shrugs him off his shoulder. Tyler rolls down Dean's upper arm and then swoops around his forearm as Dean curves his limb and hand. Just as Tyler hits the massive thigh, Dean holds his leg out at an angle, and he bounces the little human ball off his knee. Tyler squeals in delight and breaks out of his somersault, landing on Dean's denim and sliding down his shin. Dean hooks his boot up so Tyler gets a little airtime right at the end and Tyler lands on his feet in the soft grass. He turns around and gives Dean the smile of his life.

"That. Was. AWESOME. Let's do that again!"

"Maybe after breakfast," Sam speaks up from Dean's shoulder. Dean looks at him and is surprised to see Sam bent forward, his arm across his lower chest.

"Okay!" Tyler yells back. "Breakfast is almost ready. I'll go tell Owen you guys are awake."

Tyler scampers back up the hill. Once he's out of earshot, Dean turns his back to the house and mutters, "Mind telling me when you busted your ribs?"

"They're not busted," Sam grunts back. "Just bruised."

"How long?" Dean stares at Sam, who avoids his eye. "Since last night?" Sam looks away, and Dean swallows. "Since I hugged you?"

"Dean…"

"So you expect me to be all open about my aches and pains, but you still keep me in the dark about yours?" Dean shakes his head. "Dammit, Sam, that is NOT how this works!"

Sam scoffs. "Are you kidding me? Dean, it's ALWAYS been like this! Dad hid his injuries from us, then you followed suit, and hey, I learned from the best, so I did it too!"

"NOT the same thing," Dean snarls, not looking at Sam. "I hurt you this time. That's on me. And you can't…" Dean glances at him, starts to shake his head, and ends up studying a nearby evergreen. "Just…TELL me if I hurt you again, okay? I need to know."

Sam watches his brother's face tighten, straining to keep the emotions in check. "Yeah, okay," Sam nods. "I'll let you know." Dean nods that he heard him but otherwise doesn't look at him. Sam reaches out an awkward hand to pat him on the ear, not knowing what else to do. "It's not bad, all right? I'll down some painkillers and I'll be fine." Dean gives a tiny shrug, like he's a giant kid that's feeling down. "And for the record," Sam says, "I liked the hug." Dean looks at him, smirk on his lips but relief in his eyes. Sam smirks back. "You want to hug me again, don't you." Now Dean looks shy. Sam rolls his eyes and holds his arms out wide, and Dean plucks him from his shoulder and envelops him in a super soft hug. Sam nestles into his brother's t-shirt, amused by Dean's new need to hug. _It's like hugging a warm, snuggly mountain, _he smiles, very thankful Dean can't read his thoughts. Then a low rumble echoes through Sam's body, and he laughs. "Don't even think about eating me for an appetizer," Sam jokes as Dean sets him down on the hilltop.

"Bet you'd taste just like celery," Dean grins, smacking his lips. Sam looks a little uncomfortable, and Dean laughs. "Kidding. Maybe." Dean looks back at the house. Jeremy is laying out a blanket on the grass at the bottom of the hill, and Owen is outside growing food. He disappears behind a huge coffee mug, and Dean moans as the roasted scent drifts his way. "Is there anything better than the smell of fresh coffee brewing first thing in the morning?" He ponders for a moment and answers his own question: "Okay fine, sex. Or an all-you-can-eat buffet. Or my baby after a wash and wax. But coffee's right up there too."

"Grab a mug for me," Sam says, turning to run back to the house to wash up. "One your size! Need caffeine!"

Dean smirks as he pictures Sam bathing in a huge mug of steaming coffee. Then Dean sees himself lifting the mug up for a sip, Sam glaring and yelling at Dean to get his own. Then Dean imagines opening his mouth and swallowing his brother with his sip. Dean stumbles at the horrible thought. _Stop doing this to yourself! _he hollers in his mind. _No wonder you had that god-awful nightmare last night: You won't give yourself a break from the Worst Case Scenarios!_

_Scenarios you know can easily happen, _his inner voice replies. _Sam had to remind you to be careful. You know he's worried about getting hurt again. He doesn't trust you—not really. He only tells you he does so he doesn't have to deal with your crap for a few precious minutes._

_Shut up, _Dean tells himself with a tired command. Part of him knows his negative point of view is right. The other part of him just wants some damn coffee. Dean starts humming the chorus of Zeppelin's "What Is and What Should Never Be" to get his mind off it. He joins Jeremy as the young soldier finishes laying out all their food at the big kids' table—er, blanket. Everyone else is munching inside the house; Dean hears them scarfing away clear as day. Jeremy looks up as Dean approaches.

"Aww, and here I was hoping to have all this to myself," Jeremy chides. Dean chuckles.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing." Now that Dean is standing next to Jeremy, he sees that the other giant is a little smaller than him—about a foot from his perspective, but he knows it's many feet in reality. They both sit down, and Dean notices that Jeremy moves without any of his previous wobbling or shaking. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, guess that sticky stuff worked. Almost no pain. Still weak though…my legs are like toothpicks when I'm standing up." Jeremy eats a forkful of scrambled eggs. "But you know what that's like."

"Well…sorta." Dean digs into his waffles before he continues. "My knees sometimes feel like they're gonna give out, but more than anything, it's just nonstop hurt. My back and my head especially…they never let up." Dean chances a glance at Jeremy and finds understanding instead of judgment.

"My mom told me about how you were grown differently. Man that's gotta suck never knowing when your next spurt is coming. At least I know when I'm gonna grow—I see the door open and the big syringe, and I get ready. You don't get any bracing time." Jeremy shakes his head in sympathy.

"I deal," Dean shrugs, though he concedes in a softer voice, "but yeah, it sucks out loud." He takes a few sips of coffee, savoring the warmth on this chilly November morning. Then Dean clears his throat. "So question," he says to his eggs.

"Shoot."

"Have you, um…are you able…" Dean frowns at both his foggy brain and his embarrassment, and he forces himself to look Jeremy in the eye. "Can you grow on your own?"

Jeremy doesn't laugh, to Dean's relief. He doesn't look puzzled, either. Instead, Jeremy simply shakes his head. "No. The scientists had me try a few times, but nothing ever happened. Why, can you?"

"I think I did yesterday, while I was getting you out of that room."

Jeremy nods, intrigued. "Have you tried since then?"

"NO," Dean shouts, loud enough that he hears everyone at the table jump in their chairs. Dean slouches down so prying eyes can't see him over the hill. "I don't want to get any bigger," Dean confides in Jeremy. "And I'm kinda freaked that if I try…even THINK about trying…"

"You'd grow so big that your heart would give out," Jeremy finishes, nodding again. "Can't blame you there. I'd be scared about the same thing." He finishes off his eggs and gnaws on his bacon. "What about going the other way?" Jeremy watches Dean's eyebrows lift up over the coffee mug he has to his lips. "Have you tried to go back to normal?"

Dean swallows his sip and says, "Four times last night." He empties his mug, sets it down, and adds, "Three times so far this morning. Nothing." Dean picks up his own piece of bacon and chews on it thoughtfully. "Either I'm doing it wrong, or I can't."

"Another bullet point on your This Sucks List," Jeremy replies, and both men nod. Then Jeremy points at Dean with his bacon strip. "I can help you with your brother, though."

"Um…we don't need any help, thanks," Dean tells him, sounding a bit haughty.

"No, I mean with you hugging him and being freaked about hurting him. I sorta overheard your conversation earlier…sorry." Jeremy waits till he has Dean's crooked eyebrows worth of attention before he explains. "It's called Big Heart Syndrome. I got training for it. It's part of the whole perspective package."

"Uh-huuuh," Dean replies, chewing up the rest of his bacon.

"You have this need to touch your brother." Jeremy gets glared at and he rolls his eyes. "Not like _that_. You just want to hug him, take care of him, like he's a newborn puppy. Right?" Dean nods and looks at Jeremy to continue. "Everyone in the Giant Program got told about this happening. See, the bigger we get, the smaller everything else gets. Not just in reality, but emotionally. Like, okay, say you find a wounded bird. You feel bad for it—want to wrap it up and take it inside and help it get better. Well, that's how you're seeing everybody now, like they're tiny and fragile and, well…cute, y'know?"

"So I turned into a big wuss is what you're saying," Dean remarks.

"Nah, you're stronger than ever physically. But in here," Jeremy taps the area above his heart, "you're a big ol' softie, like it or not."

Dean considers this. At the same time, his ears notice a complete lack of noise from the kitchen. He looks up at the house. "You got all that or should I write it down for you?" Dean yells up at them. The chewing and clatter of silverware on porcelain resume at once. Dean smirks and looks back at Jeremy. "So how do I fix it?"

"You don't," Jeremy shrugs. "You have to remember that they're still the same people they always were. Your brother hasn't changed at all. You need to treat him the same way you did before you became a giant. I know how pissed off you were when they were treating you differently…heard that last night, too, sorry. You know how this super hearing thing goes..."

"So Golden Rule it," Dean sums up.

"Exactly. If you want your brother to remember that you're still you, you have to do the same for him. We were trained to work alongside the regular-sized soldiers as a teammate, not as overgrown show-offs who can do everything better just cos we're bigger. We have skills and limitations, just like they do. So work together, all right?"

Jeremy smiles when Dean does, and Jeremy adds, "And sneak in a hug whenever you can, cos let's face it—they're so fun to hug when they're that little." Dean grins at the shared knowledge, and Jeremy chuckles. "You think it's hard to resist hugging your brother? Imagine how the little guys in my platoon felt! Good thing my mom was there…she was more than happy to get the hugs. Course, then we got separated…" Jeremy's smile fades, and he looks away. In front of him, the food and plates and mugs shrink back to normal.

"Looks like eat time's over," Dean says. "I'm getting a refill. You want?" Jeremy shakes his head no, thanking him with a small smile. Dean stands up, taking his now microscopic mug with him, and a migraine pounds away at once. Dean holds a hand to the left side of his head and thuds up the hill to the house. Then he crouches down on his knees and knocks his knuckles against the back door. Owen opens it up and smiles at him.

"More coffee?"

"Always." Dean sets the little mug in Owen's hand, and Owen moves to the side to get his refill. "Hey, Owen? Why did our breakfast shrink but the blankets are still huge?"

"I didn't grow the blankets—I used a stretching and replication spell. Basically I told the blankets to make themselves bigger, so the threads and quilt filling multiplied and copied the pattern and stitching, and there you have it." Owen brings the refilled mug back outside. "I can't use the spell on humans—the inner organs don't take well to replicating themselves." He sprinkles the growth powder on the mug, and it springs up to giant size in a snap. "Enjoy!" Owen calls, looking up at Dean. But Dean has a hand to his head and his eyes shut tight.

"Dean?" Sam asks, stepping outside. "You all right?"

Dean gives a little nod. "Just more of the same, Sammy," he mumbles.

Sam looks to Owen now. "What about that stuff you gave Jeremy? Is there any of that left?"

Owen looks at him with great remorse. "Yes, but I don't want to risk making Dean even worse."

"I agree," Michelle says as she leads Tyler and Bobby out the back door. She looks up at Dean and reminds him: "You had a severe allergic reaction to the painkillers I gave you, and I believe it was caused by the hydros blood in you rejecting it. I don't want to see you go through that again, do you?"

Dean answers with a definitive "NO." He rolls onto his butt and folds his legs as he sits down, still keeping his eyes shielded and his hand to his head.

"Maybe you should lie down and get some rest," Michelle suggests.

"Sick of resting," Dean grumbles. He opens his eyes and looks at them all. "I should be out hunting the hydros, not sitting here with my thumb up my ass."

"But we don't know where it is," Sam says. "I don't even really know where we are right now."

"It could be anywhere," Bobby agrees. "What are we supposed to do—look through every sewer in the Midwest and hope we get lucky?"

"At least we'd be doing something then," Dean seethes. Bobby gives him a deep frown, and Dean replies, "Come on, Bobby, this is still a hunt. There's a monster out there snacking on people, and we have to find it and kill it before it gets too big to fight."

Bobby shakes his head. "It ain't that simple …"

"Yeah it is! Remember why you came to find me and Sam in the first place? To find the hydros, kill it, and make an anti-venom. But then the men in black took us away and we got sidetracked for a while."

"Sidetracked?!" Bobby says again, pissed off and showing it. "You got captured, kidnapped, locked up, and tortured." His face softens as he looks up into the big green eyes. "You're lucky to be alive, kid."

"But I AM alive, Bobby, that's my point!" Dean looks at each of the smaller people in turn. "We all got out alive, and right now, nobody knows where we are. We should use this opportunity to gank the hydros and get me and Jeremy back to normal." Meesh and Bobby look at each other, unsure, and Dean leans over them. "C'mon, you KNOW I'm right about this."

"You _are_ right, Dean." All eyes go to Sam, who is pensive as he walks up to Dean. "We can't keep hiding you, and we can't sit around and wait for some miracle. Winchesters don't do miracles. We prefer the Do It Yourself approach." The brothers share a smirk. Then Sam turns around and faces the others. "Dean and Jeremy can't stay like this. You said it yourself, Bobby—their hearts will give out. We have to cure them NOW."

"Great, let's cure them!" Michelle pipes up. "Me, you, Bobby, Owen—let's get in the car and get some answers. But the big boys need to stay here and REST."

"Meesh…"

"I don't want to hear it, Dean! Neither one of you is fit for any fighting right now. I'm saying that as your doctor as much as your friend."

"But he's the only one that can fight it," Jeremy says as he joins the group. "If Dean's this big, then the hydros has to be enormous. No offense, but how are the four of you going to take on something so huge and dangerous?"

"We can shrink it," Owen insists. "I have the powder already mixed up. We just have to trap it long enough for me to say the spell, and once it's little, we can kill it and extract the venom easy peasy."

Dean and Jeremy share a look. "Easy," Dean repeats. "Do you know how big a trap you'd have to build to catch something that huge and that hungry and that FAST? We don't have time for that. We don't even have the supplies for that! And besides, how do you know it won't just turn into water and drip out through a crack in the floor?" Dean shakes his head. "Jeremy's right—it has to be me. I'm the only one big enough to trap it and strong enough to kill it."

"And what if you get killed first?" Sam shouts. Dean gives him a look. "I want to hunt this thing as much as you do, Dean, but this fight is gonna take everything you've got. You don't get to pace yourself like you did on the walk last night."

"I'm still a hunter, Sam," Dean fumes.

"Yeah, but now you're a hunter with a heart problem!" Sam sasses back.

"I can DO this!"

"I don't want you to!"

"So work together," Tyler says. Everyone looks at the little boy, all of them having forgotten he was even there. "Dean can fight the hydros and hold it down, and then Owen can shrink both of them."

"Yeah, but the effects won't last. Dean will go back to being a giant again," Owen argues.

"But his heart will get a break," Tyler points out. "After all that fighting, it'll need one."

The grown-ups ponder this. "Would the sudden drop in size hurt his heart?" Bobby asks Michelle.

"I honestly don't know. But his heart and lungs would certainly benefit from a breather after all that stress. It'll be like the ultimate Second Wind."

"Then he can rest while Owen works on the anti-venom," Sam states, smiling. He looks up at Dean. "What do you think?"

"Sounds like a plan-and-a-half to me," Dean answers, also smiling. "Thanks Tyler!"

Tyler smiles and shrugs like it was nothing. "Can I go watch TV now? It's kinda cold out here."

"I think our Master Planner deserves some hot chocolate," Michelle beams. "Extra marshmallows included, of course." Tyler's face lights up, and she leads him back inside the house. Dean's face clouds as he watches them go, and Sam chuckles.

"Don't worry, we'll get you some too, Dean," he coaxes. Then he tugs on the giant left pinky finger. "Come on. I have an idea how to find the hydros."

"Really?" Dean, Bobby, and Owen all say at the same time. Sam nods.

"Really. But first we have to find something big and shiny…"

* * *

About ten minutes later, Dean is lying on his back in front of the house, legs across the driveway and his brown boots making double cliffs over the hilltop. The Impala is nestled against his side and is being warmed by Dean's huge and protective right hand. Dean himself is squirming at all the movement all around him—or rather, ON him. Meesh is wandering around listening to his heart and lungs, Owen is pacing back and forth across his clavicle, and Bobby is standing on Dean's forehead.

"What the hell, Bobby, did you put itching powder all over your shoes?" Dean reaches a huge hand up to scratch at that itch, and Bobby ducks out of the way.

"You've just got sensitive skin, princess," Bobby grumbles back. "Now stop yer squirming and get comfy."

"Comfy," Dean snorts. "YOU try getting comfy with someone walking on YOUR face!" He feels something grab hold of the side of his shirt, followed by little feet crawling up his belly. Sam appears, and he waves at the others with a big, gold plate.

"Will this work?" Sam calls to Bobby as he walks up Dean's chest. Once he gets to his chin, Sam throws a length of attached fishing line up to Bobby, who catches it and pulls the object up for a look.

"Yeah, this'll do," Bobby replies. "Now get your brother to relax before he throws me off again! Still pickin' grass outta my beard…"

"It just makes you look more rustic, handsome," Michelle calls back. Sam sees Bobby smile, and Sam smiles as well and looks at Dean, who is most definitely NOT smiling. Sam's smile drops at once.

"Look, man, I know you don't want to do this, but it's the only way to find the hydros."

"I know," Dean grumps. "How did you even know that Bobby can hypnotize people?"

"Dude, it's Bobby. If he can speak Japanese and build a demon-proof panic room, he can hypnotize people."

Dean nods. "Touché." He squirms a little more as Bobby walks around, but he settles when he hears the hunter threaten to put spikes on his boots. "So run me through this again. How do you think you're gonna see the hydros when I can't see a thing in my dreams anymore?"

"We're just going in with a set of fresh eyes," Sam tells him. "Well…two sets. Bobby's going to hypnotize you back to dream state, and then Owen's mind abilities will let him see what you're seeing, and I'll hook up and see what you're both seeing—just like back in your cell."

"That's just what I'm afraid of," Dean murmurs. Sam doesn't ask Dean what he means—he already knows. It's got him on edge as well.

"Bobby promised he'd keep us out of your other memories," Sam says. "And you know you can trust Bobby."

"Course I do." _I just don't trust myself, _Dean thinks darkly. He's really, REALLY not comfortable with this. _It was bad enough when Sam used the dream root and took a stroll upstairs, and that was before Hell._ _Now it's a whole new ballgame. It's hard enough to keep MY mind off of what happened. What if Sam sees? What if he finds out what I did down there? Fuck, he thought my welcome was bad—wait'll__he sees what his big brother is really capable of after decades of pain—_

"Dean?"

Dean's thoughts stop swirling as his brother comes back into view, standing directly in front of his chin and looking worried. _God I'm sick of worrying him…_ Dean turns his head to the side to take in a deep breath of air. "I'm fine," he says as he breathes out again. "Let's get this over with." He straightens up and watches as that gold plate drops down in front of his eyes and above his nose. "So this is the part where you start swinging it and tell me I'm getting verrry sleeeepy…"

"You think I'm some two-bit magician at the airport Hilton?" Bobby asks. "Doesn't work that way, Dean. Just watch the plate and relax."

"It's a charger, actually," Sam tells them.

"A charger?" Dean says again. Sam nods. Dean smirks. "And I'll bet you know why it's called that, doncha Sammy…" Sam gets that look on his face that's a perfect mix of smugness and embarrassment. "Well go on, tell us all why that special gold plate is called a charger, you KNOW you want to…"

"It isn't real gold—it's gold paint on plastic," Sam informs them. "And I don't know why it's called a charger. I only know that you put it underneath the dinner plate at formal dinners." Sam sees both Dean and Bobby staring at him in disbelief. "What? That's what you do!" Now they just look tickled. "Jess threw a dinner party once, all right?" Sam snaps. Both Dean and Bobby start as if they've just been slapped—well, in the shoulder anyway. "It was a surprise for my birthday," he adds more quietly. Dean peers up at Bobby, who shrugs as he looks back down. Then Owen, now sitting with Meesh on Dean's torso, clears his throat.

"Back to hydros hunting?" he hints. The hunters look at each other and get back on track at once. Sam sits down next to Owen, and Bobby jangles the shiny object above the tip of Dean's nose.

"So Dean," Bobby begins again. "Listen to Martha Stewart over there and look at the CHARGER. I want you to relax. Tune everything else out. All of us. All your discomfort. All your pain. It isn't there. Just listen to my voice and let the quiet take over."

Dean really wants to make a joke about how stupid this is, but he keeps his mouth shut when he sees the serious look on Sam's face. _All right, Sammy. I'll try for you. _So Dean watches the stupid gold charger. Watches it twirl in the light but chilly breeze. Flat side, back side, flat side again. The gold is brighter on the front than the back, making the charger appear round and shadowed as it spins on the fishing line. He wonders how many times it was used. He ponders what other colors they come in. He thinks about what color Jess picked out for Sam's birthday dinner. He wishes he'd been there.

"That's it, Dean," Bobby's voice soothes. Dean can't even feel him on his forehead anymore. He doesn't feel anything, in fact. The cold is gone. The birds are silent. His whole world is the spinning disc before him. "I want you to follow the gold light," Bobby instructs. "It's your lantern into the dark. Do you see it?"

A deep tunnel opens up in front of Dean's eyes, and the gold light bobs inside, beckoning him forward. "I see it," Dean whispers as his mind leads him into the darkness.

"Good. Keep following it, Dean. Nice and slow. Nothing will hurt you here. We're just going to have a look." Bobby motions for Owen and Sam to latch on. Owen shuts his eyes and concentrates, and Sam takes his shoulder and does likewise. They find themselves in a tunnel, beholding the golden lantern through Dean's eyes. "Can you still hear me, Dean?"

"Yes," Dean breathes.

"Good. We're all here with you. Me and Owen and Sam. We'll keep you safe, I promise." Bobby sees Dean fully relax at the promise, and Owen and Sam feel the relief radiating all around them. The lantern lifts high as they enter a bigger room. Countless tunnels appear around them. A few are completely walled up, while others sport crumbling barriers. But it's the open ones that freeze Dean in place, especially those lit up by angry red glows emanating from deep within. Dean's relief turns to fear as his eyes linger on those dangerous passageways.

"Please don't make me go in there," he pleads inside and out, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You don't have to go anywhere you don't want to go," Bobby reassures him, guessing what Dean is talking about. "I only want to see what you saw last night. Do you remember your dreams?"

Dean looks to a certain tunnel, and a strong wind blasts him through the entrance. A city street opens up. Dean is holding something above his head that is so heavy, his entire body is shaking. Someone tiny is yelling at him from the ground. _I can't, they'll all die!_ Dean's voice echoes through the dream. The tiny someone shouts back, _But you're dying NOW, Dean! Put it down before you break your back!_

They feel Dean shift his weight to lower his heavy burden, but he loses his grip and has to step out to catch it again. Then he carefully sets it down on the street. Owen and Sam can't make out what it is—it's too blurry. But they see something else quite clearly: a bloody smear where Dean's boot used to be. Dean kneels down for a closer look. He finds his tiny brother's body squished into the concrete, every bone below his neck broken. _No… _Dean's heart drops into his stomach as complete revulsion fills his body and spirit. _I killed you… _He stumbles back, though his eyes refuse to look away from the broken body. _I killed you…I didn't mean…I didn't know! Sammy?! _

_Dean, it's okay, _Sam's voice says from somewhere. Dean looks around the blurry cityscape, trying to find it. _This was just your nightmare from last night. I'm still right here, Dean. I'm fine. _Outside, Sam pats Dean's chest, hoping his brother will feel it. Sam shudders from the penetrating fear coursing through Dean's mind, and he tries to send back love and encouragement in return. "You'll have to be more specific, Bobby," Sam informs the hypnotist. "He took us into the nightmare he had last night."

Bobby looks down at that big, pale face and can't help but coat himself in blame, so he takes a big breath to clear his mind. He knows he has to get this done. "Dean?" Bobby asks gently.

"Y-yes?" Dean stammers.

"I need you to follow the gold light again, okay?"

Dean, feeling very small despite how huge he stands in the street, looks around for his beacon. The sun lowers from the sky and transforms into the familiar light, and the tunnel appears out of thin air right behind it. "Go on, son," Bobby encourages. "It will lead you out of your nightmare."

_But Sammy…is he still—?_

_I'm here, Dean, _Sam says again, sending more love through their temporary connection. _You're safe. We both are, I swear._

Dean finds his courage again and moves back into the room with the multitude of tunnels. "Dean, I need you to go to the hydros," Bobby instructs him. "Do you think you can find it?"

Dean looks upon another tunnel, this one sporting dank stones and deep puddles. Dean plods forward and the blast of wind carries them inside. The golden light is all but extinguished in the muck of their new surroundings.

"We're here," Dean tells them all.

"Good, Dean. Now I want you to take a good, hard look for me. Can you see anything that might tell you where you are?"

Dean scans the area but finds nothing. It's as if he's been dropped into a hole filled with black paint: the space moves as liquid, but every detail remains indistinguishable. "I can't see anything," Dean mumbles. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right—just keep trying." Bobby looks at Owen and Sam, wondering if they're having any luck.

_I can't see a thing, _Sam admits to Owen. _You?_

_Not really. _Then something way down in the corner of his vision catches his eye. _Wait a tic… Dean, would you do me a favor?_

_Sure, _Dean thinks back.

_Take the lantern and shine it down to your right. _The light bobs slowly downward until it gets to the spot Owen pointed out. A reddish, watery sheen streaks from right to left. _There! Follow it, Dean! _The light moves with the streak as it zigs and zags, almost as if it's trying to escape detection. All at once, a horizontal line of bright white cuts across the viewing area. Dean shines the lantern ahead, and the line broadens. Then it flickers and dies out again, casting everyone in even deeper shadows.

_Try it again, Dean, _Sam pushes. _Hold the light as far forward as you can! _

The light moves on ahead until it bumps into something. All three presences move up close and find a strange wall. It's curved out, arching high over their heads and far under their feet, and the surface appears to be made of alien skin, appearing blue-green in the light. The wall splits horizontally in the middle, and the two halves open, pouring that same white light into the room. For a split second, they see a chain-link fence flying by 10 feet to their left. Then the two halves shut again.

_It's an eye,_ Dean realizes. The dream fades away as reality seeps back in. "No wonder why I couldn't see anything," Dean mutters. "It's been keeping its damn eyes shut!" He opens his eyes and sits up, careful to grab all the little people before they fall, and he sets them on the ground. "Someone tell me I'm crazy. Seriously—I don't want to be right about this."

"It's on to you," Sam says. "All the times you were watching it in your dreams, it was looking back."

"And who knows what it's seen through Dean's eyes," Bobby sighs. "Now that we know it's a two-way mirror, it probably knows who we all are. Hell, it might even know our hunting plan." He looks up at Dean and can tell he's worried about the same thing.

"You don't think it's on its way here to kill us?" Owen asks, petrified where he stands.

"Doesn't matter," Dean replies. "We're gonna find it and kill it first."

Sam shakes his head. "Hate to be Baron von Buzzkill here, but we still don't know where to look. All we saw was a fence. That could be anywhere."

"So let's try again," Dean offers. "Maybe you and Owen could command it to keep its eyes open or something."

Owen smirks but says, "There's no point. It knows we're trying to see where it is. It'll just put up that much more of a fight."

"Well what the hell do we do then?" Dean hollers, smacking his fist on the ground. "It's not like the answer is gonna appear out of nowhere!"

"DEAN!" Tyler shouts from inside the house. They all look that way as Tyler opens the front door. "They're talking about Skippy on TV! Look!"

Dean gets up at once, but everyone else stays in place. "Didn't you hear him? It's Skippy!" Blank stares. "The HYDROS! Move your asses, we just got our answer out of nowhere after all!"

The normal-sized people rush inside, and Sam and Bobby tilt the television toward the window so Dean can see for himself. The screen displays an aerial view of a destroyed bridge, with several cars dumped into the river below. Michelle cranks up the volume.

"'…bridge is out. The official cause of the collapse is still unknown, despite reports from witnesses that a monster brought it down. Channel 9's Andy Haver is on the scene with a survivor.'

'Sir, what happened here?'

'This was no bridge failure. We all saw it. I was two cars back from the bridge when this huge blue thing smashed right through the bridge.'

'Can you describe what it looked like?'

'Yeah, a giant snake! Bright blue, huge head and fangs, the works. It plowed through the bridge like it wasn't even there. A van fell right in its mouth and it was gone—swallowed whole!'

'You're sure it was a giant blue snake…'

'Positive—here, my wife got it all on her phone, look!'

Dean and everyone else watches the screen carefully as the camera pans in to the video on the cell phone. They see the bridge just as it collapses, but instead of the hydros, they see what looks like a solid grey cloud.

"Just like Dean's pictures," Sam murmurs. The van the witness mentioned plunges down, and a portion of the cloud lifts up and surrounds it. The van is instantly out of sight. Then the cloud moves on down the river, leaving falling cars and concrete in its wake. The image is abruptly replaced by the state patrol car that pulls up in front of the camera. They hear the witness shouting that he isn't crazy, and other voices joining him and saying the same. The reporter tries to get a statement, but the officers shove him out of the way.

'We need everyone out of here NOW. This area is highly unstable—'

The live footage disappears behind a red screen and the words "Breaking News." The newsroom comes back into view.

'We're sorry to interrupt your report, Andy, but we have breaking news. The creature has been spotted on land just east of O'Hare.'

"How the hell did it get to O'Hare?!" Sam and Dean ask together. They're quickly shushed by the others, and attention goes back to the news.

'We're trying to…hang on…I have word that an emergency transmission is about to be aired.'

The high-pitched tone associated with the Emergency Broadcast System screams through everyone's ears, and a different station room appears, with national and army flags as the backdrop and a pedestal with a round seal in the foreground. The man that steps forward to speak nearly makes all the onlookers upchuck their breakfast.

"You have GOT to be kidding me," Michelle says for everyone, and they all join in a group glare at the douchebag in the black suit and the ever-present sunglasses.

'I'm Marshall Froedert with S.P.I.R.E, a special task force run by the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Our unit has been activated to handle the very serious situation in Chicago. Reports of a giant creature are true. Though the creature does not appear on any video or data feed, I assure you that it is very real and poses a very serious threat. The creature has already destroyed a bridge and collapsed the overpass just east of North River Road on I-190. It is enormous, fast, and deadly. Initial reports indicate that 20 people have been killed, at least 60 injured. We are working with local law enforcement to seal off the city and barricade all major roads and waterways. All buses and trains will be shut down at once. All flights are grounded until further notice. We ask everyone in greater Chicago and especially those in the downtown and lakeshore areas to stay inside or seek shelter and remain CALM. Stay out of the way and let us do our job. Don't worry folks, we'll keep you safe.'

"Son of a BITCH." Dean gets to his feet and looks around. "Which way is Chicago? We have to get there NOW."

"We can use my teleportation amulet," Owen tells them. "It should be fully charged up by now."

"You go," Michelle says. "Now that Shady Guy's involved, we're going to need extra help." She pulls several flash drives from her pocket. "I'd been hoping to have a little more time for this, but I'll just have to make him understand, using Jeremy as my proof..."

Bobby frowns, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Michelle smiles. "An old friend. Let's just hope he's home. He's going to be our only chance at stopping them once and for all." She gives Bobby a very serious look. "I know for a fact that these guys aren't interested in killing the hydros. They want it for themselves. And they'll do anything to get it."

"What, like hurting innocent people?" Dean bristles. He stomps his foot when Michelle only looks at him, her own fury plain on her face. "Oh that is IT. Everyone in the car. Owen, get your amulet ready. We have to get there before…" His voice catches in his throat on the last word, and his eyes blow wide as the color drains from his face. He cries out in pain and stumbles backward as the scenery rolls around him. Sam runs out of the house as his giant brother drops to his knees.

"Dean?!"

"D-don't come any closer," Dean begs as he starts to shake. "Think it's…happening…again…oh God!"

The ground shakes with him and every breakable item in the house falls off its shelves or walls and smashes on the floor. Dean tumbles forward, head held tight between trembling arms, and the already huge body begins to grow at an alarming rate. Anguished howling bellows all around as every muscle and bone is stretched without pause as swiftly as an inflating balloon. The house begins to shake violently, and Bobby grabs Tyler and leads Owen and Michelle outside to the Impala. They jump in just as Dean unleashes a throaty and tormented scream, and Bobby throws the car in reverse just moments before Dean's gargantuan fist pounds down where they'd just been. Then it's over. The house resettles but does not collapse. The Impala purrs from the bottom of the driveway. Sam stands up from where he's fallen behind a felled tree and has a look at Dean. He's impossible to miss. Even curled up, he's now bigger and taller than the house.

"Dean?" Sam steps closer, reaching a hand out to touch his brother's arm, but Dean is quivering through the aftershocks of the growth spurt, and Sam pulls back at the last second. He gulps down the emotion caught in his throat and asks, "Are you all right?"

Soft whimpers are his answer, coming deep within the giant human ball. The Impala creeps back up the driveway and parks near Dean's head, which is still covered by his arms. The car is now only the size of either hand. The passengers get out, and Jeremy steps up as well. Dean's almost as big as the other giant, and he hasn't even uncurled yet. Jeremy puts his hand on Dean's back, and Dean jerks and yelps like he's been stabbed. Jeremy shakes his head sadly at his mom, who comes up to Dean and rests her tiny hand against his thumb.

"Shh, it's all right," she soothes. Dean is still trembling, but he nods his head ever so slightly. Sam joins her, and she looks up at him. "I saw it on TV right before I ran out of the house. They had fire trucks blasting their hoses at the hydros to hold it back. The hydros still looked like a cloud, but it got a lot bigger."

"Fucking idjits," Bobby swears. "Why didn't they stop when they saw it growing?"

"Cos Shady Guy ordered them to keep going."

Enormous green eyes peek open in front of her. "He what?" Dean whispers behind his arms.

"He knows you're connected to it, and he knows you're out here somewhere," Michelle reminds him with great regret. "Like I said, he won't stop at anything to get the hydros for his experiments. Especially if he gets some payback on you in the process."

Dean growls—actually growls—and slowly rises.

"Whoa Dean, maybe you should stay down a few more minutes," Sam says, watching his brother straining against his own weight. Dean throws him a quick smile to mask his undeniable pain and keeps going.

"Sorry Sammy, but you know what they say…" Everyone watches Dean stretch up and up and up until he's fully upright and towering over Jeremy and the entire country estate. He's an awesome and terrifying sight, standing well over 100 feet tall. Turning his face due east, Dean glares at the horizon and thunders, "Payback's a bitch."


	18. Smackdown, Chicago Style

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal **(cont.)

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

**A/N: **Well, it's taken me over a year to get here (and I do apologize for that—stoopid real life always interrupting my chances to write!), but I'm happy to say that we've arrived at the story's climax. I can only hope it was worth the wait. I even have pics this time around! Check out my profile to see them, all made by the amazing PeaceJoJo. So thanks to her for the illustrations, and infinity-plus thanks to Katiki for helping me navigate through this especially long and demanding chapter.

One other thing: I'm going to be on vacation for a week starting tomorrow, so if you write me a reply but don't hear from me, don't think I'm snubbing you ;) I'll write you back as soon as I return. Happy reading! One chapter to go after this one…

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: Smackdown, Chicago-Style**

Hurt. Heavy. All-out pain. It's as if every part of Dean has been ripped out, stretched, broken, covered in lead, and sloppily glued back together. Even his eyelashes hurt.

_I can do this._

He turns just slightly, shifting his now massive form right to left, and the gentle movement nearly cripples him.

_I can DO this!_

He looks around, and it feels like the world turns with him. Disorientation turns to dizziness.

_I can do this, I can do this, I can—_

_You can TRY, _his inner voice murmurs. _But you'll fall on your face. _

Dean frowns at his own misgivings. _This is supposed to be a pep talk, _he thinks back, _not a you-suck-donkey-balls talk._

_Go ahead, talk all you want if it distracts you from the agony. Just like when you were downstairs, only this time you've got gravity making you its bitch._

_I'm topside and I can do this, _Dean tells himself, doing his best to quash all the awful déjà vu his body is throwing at him.

"DEAN! You okay?!" yells a tiny voice. Sam is so small and so far away, but Dean can still hear him loud and clear. He looks down…and his body follows. Tiny, two-inch people scatter as the ground rises up to Dean's nose far too fast. His baby is right in the crumple zone, and Dean's elbows go out at once, bracing his upper body to keep it from squashing his beautiful car. Dean breathes hard. The tiny people do, too. They stare at Dean, scared. Even Sam is petrified and pale, looking like he's facing death instead of his big brother. Dean shuts his eyes.

"Everyone stay away till I can take the training wheels off," he grunts. Placing his huge hands flat on the ground, he pushes up; it's about as easy as lifting a mountain. But he manages to get high enough to sit back on his knees. His friends and family give him a wide berth as he folds his legs, nearly blacking out from the effort. He puts his hands over his eyes and bows his head as the dizziness hits again. Somewhere nearby, Michelle asks her son for a boost, and a moment later, Dean feels a tiny but warm little hand on his knuckle.

"Dean, let me take a look. And if you tell me you're fine, I swear I'll have Jeremy manhandle you."

"Manhandle?!" both giants repeat, wondering exactly what that's supposed to mean.

"Try me," is all Michelle replies. Dean takes his hand away from his eyes and sees his doctor perched on Jeremy's palm, looking both concerned and demanding. Dean holds his hand out, and Michelle steps on. "Now let me take a look at your eyes." She motions for Dean to take her up to eyelevel, and he does.

As Michelle puts Dean through the motions of looking this way and that, he notices Sam, Bobby, and Owen standing off a ways, talking in hushed voices. Dean homes his hearing in on them to listen in, but Michelle keeps throwing off his concentration.

"Turn your head back and forth. SLOWLY." Dean obeys, keeping his huge greens pinned on the little band of whisperers. "Are you feeling dizzy?" Michelle asks.

"Yeah, a little," Dean admits. His frown grows deeper as he sees Sam and Bobby sneaking glances at Dean. Sam finds Dean's eyes on him and fronts him a smile.

_They're gonna leave me here, _Dean realizes. He moves to get up. "Over my dead body…"

"What the HELL do you think you're doing?" Michelle cries, holding on to the web of Dean's thumb for dear life. "Sit down, we're not done yet!"

"Sorry, Meesh, but the check-up's over." Dean sets her down, but wisely remains on one knee. "We have to get to Chi-town before Skippy takes advantage of the monsters-only lunch special. Restaurants, bars, and a huge city full of people, all right there and ready to be chowed…down…" His eyes widen, and he looks down at his brother. Sam knows it, too.

"It doesn't want food…" Sam says.

"It wants water," Dean finishes. "It's heading for Lake Michigan."

There's quiet as that scary notion sinks in. "If it gets to the lake," Owen says, almost trance-like, "it'll grow into a behemoth. Unstoppable." He blinks once and turns his glasses up to Dean. "And you'll grow with it."

Dean gives a sad smirk. "I'm sure I'll die before I get to that size." Everyone looks down. "Hey!" Dean shouts. Everyone looks back up. "What's with the white-flag waving? Owen, get your teleport amulet ready—we have to stop this thing!"

"What if we can't?" Bobby snaps, though Dean knows it's from pure concern. "We've never tackled anything like this before."

"So we make things up as we go along," Dean replies, already starting to stand. "Just like half our other hunts."

"But what about you, Dean?" Sam calls. Dean looks down at him and sees The Look. Not the Puppy Eyes, not the Bitch Face, but the look he's been seeing in Sam's eyes so often since Dean told him he remembered Hell. The I'm Worried Look, but with judgment, pity, and doubt instead of actual worry. Sam might as well be saying 'You're weak, Dean, and you can't do anything anymore.' Dean stands up straight, determined to prove him wrong.

"I'll be fine," he says.

"But—"

"SAM!" The name rings out across the countryside, and Dean looks straight down into that little face. "I'll be FINE. Let's go." He winces and brings a hand to his head.

"It's the blood pressure," Michelle explains. "The gravity is putting so much stress on his circulatory system that blood is having trouble getting up to his head."

"So tell me how to fix it," Dean grumbles. "Owen, you got anything in that magic bag of yours that could help?"

"Not enough to help someone your size," Owen tells him sadly. "You could probably get your body accustomed to its new form, just as you have been all along so far. But it would take time." Dean looks at him with a frown. "And yes, Dean, I know—we don't have time." Owen sighs. "We'll just have to hope that the hydros doesn't give you too much trouble."

"Yeah, right," Bobby remarks. "Like we ever get any miracles." He looks way up at Dean and studies him, his face a perfect blend of 'I don't like this' and 'Well, let's get on with it.' "If we're really gonna do this, we're going in smart," Bobby announces. "Owen, teleport us to the Art Institute. They'll have a bronze sword there. Then we'll find the hydros, let Dean get a hold of it, shrink them both, take out the venom, and kill it. No splitting up, no stupid risks, hear me? We go after this thing together. Is that clear?" Everyone nods. Bobby looks up at Dean, who gives him an extra nod. Bobby nods back. "All right then." His eyes fall on Tyler, and Bobby kneels down in front of him. "I'm afraid you'll have to come with us for now, son. But we'll keep ya safe, I swear it."

"I know," Tyler says, like it's just so obvious that it needs no thought. "And I wanna come anyway—I was in Chicago when they kidnapped me. Maybe Mom and Dad will still be there."

"If they are, we'll get you reunited," Dean says. Tyler beams up at him, and Dean smiles back down. "Besides, I'll need help from our resident snake expert."

"You got it, Deanzilla."

All the regular-sized people break out into wry smiles at that very apt nickname. "What?" Tyler asks, then points at Sam. "He's Sasquatch Sam!"

"I was wondering where that came from…" Sam mutters, still smiling.

Owen sweeps his arm in an 'over here' motion. "Right. Everyone gather round. You'll all need to be in contact with me and each other so we can all `port together."

"Get in the car," Dean suggests. "I'm not leaving my baby behind."

"We'll catch up to you later," Michelle tells them as she walks over to Jeremy's huge army boot. "I have some business to take care of so we can put Shady Guy away once and for all. With him around, Chicago has more than one monster to worry about…" She hugs everyone as they get in the car. When Bobby gets there, he dips her and kisses her hard. Jeremy leans over to Dean, who bends down.

"So are they…?"

"They are now," Dean smiles.

Bobby lets her up from the kiss, and Michelle smiles, utterly twitterpated.

"If I survive this, we're gettin' dinner," Bobby tells her.

"Then you'd better survive, or I'll kill you all over again," Michelle winks. Bobby ducks into the backseat next to Tyler. Sam is in the driver's seat, and Owen is riding shotgun.

"Everyone hold hands," Owen instructs. "Dean, you hold onto the car and put a finger on my shoulder."

Dean carefully picks up the car, now about the length of his hand, and rests his pinky through the still-broken shotgun window. Then he looks over at Meesh and Jeremy. "See if you can scrounge up a water tower of whiskey. I'm gonna need a victory shot after all this."

Michelle nods that she will. An instant later, the car and the titan vanish. Michelle releases a long, worried sigh.

"They'll be fine, Mom," Jeremy reassures her.

"They'd better be." She looks up at her son. "Come on. They're not the only ones who have work to do…"

* * *

One second Dean is in the boonies, standing next to a big house, and the next he's in the city, standing next to a big building. Black, X-shaped bands crawl up what Dean is sure is a famous skyscraper, though he doesn't know the name. He holds the car up to his eyes. "Everyone okay?"

"Fine, Deanzilla!" Tyler calls from the back.

"No, we're NOT fine," Bobby hollers next to him. "Owen teleported us to the wrong end of Michigan Avenue!" They all look at him, questions on their faces. "What? I know Chicago. My wife was from here. And I know for a fact that the Art Institute is downtown, not uptown, Owen." He glares at the addressed, and Owen gives a quick sigh.

"I'm sorry, Bobby, but it's difficult for me to be accurate when I'm teleporting to a place I've never been. That's why I focused on finding the hydros instead of your museum." Owen's half of the bench seat gets a kick in the back regardless of his apology.

"So the hydros is somewhere close?" Sam asks. Owen nods, and they all look around for it but see nothing.

"What is that?" they hear Dean ask. When everyone looks forward, their friendly giant's eyes are wide and full of wonder.

"What's what?" Sam asks.

"That heavenly smell!"

Dean drops down, taking the car with him, and everyone's heads hit the roof. But they don't crash into the street—rather, Dean gently places them down in a parking spot. They hear him "Mmmmmmm" as he kneels down in front of them. At the base of the tower is a Cheesecake Factory—they can all smell its wonderful aroma now.

"Maybe Skippy can wait after all…" Dean goes down on his stomach to look inside. He doesn't find any customers, but the door is hanging open, and he reaches a hand out. It won't fit, so he attempts to walk his fingers through. He hears Sam "Dean" him from behind, and Dean looks at him with his version of the puppy eyes. "It's cheesecake, Sam. You already made me waste my pie. Don't take cheesecake away from me, too."

"You can't, Dean."

"Sure I can. Just one piece, Sammy, please."

"There's no time."

"I'll get it to go!"

"They won't get you anything, Dean," Sam insists as he strides up next to him. "They're gonna run screaming any second now!"

Dean points to the empty eatery. "But there's nobody in there, look!"

"There's nobody…anywhere," Tyler says. Both Dean and Sam look back and see for themselves. The huge avenue before them is deserted.

"That ain't good…" Bobby comments.

Sam checks his watch. "The streets should be crammed with early rush-hour traffic. Where is everyone?"

"Well, the city was given orders to evacuate," Owen reminds them. "Maybe they're all gone?"

Sam looks skeptical. "No, a city the size of Chicago can't evacuate in a snap. They must all be inside." His brother stands up behind him. "See anything?" Sam calls.

"Yeah, I see something." Dean steps to the crossing street, and the others follow behind. As the next skyscraper comes into view, they all stop and gape. A huge hole has been tunneled through the first few floors, like something punched clear through it.

"Whoa," Tyler says for everyone. Dean moves around the left of the building while everyone else looks through the hole. Dean peers through from the other side.

"Building's stable." Dean puts a hand on its side and gives it a shake to be sure. It doesn't move. Dean takes comfort that compared to these skyscrapers, he's still small. Of course, then he looks down 120 feet to the street and he's back to being a giant. _Stop thinking about it, you're dizzy enough, _he orders himself. He looks around for other damage and soon spots another hole. "Hey," he calls, "looks like Skippy chomped through the corner of the building next door, too." He stands up straight and spies the lake. It's way too close for comfort—only a few blocks due east.

"Lake's not far from here," he hears Bobby say, and Dean looks down at him as the older hunter readjusts his green trucker's hat. "But the good news is that the hydros ain't takin' a swim yet. We'd know if it was." He looks pointedly at Dean when he says that. "Bad news is that we don't know where it is right now, either. And we don't have the sword."

"So what do we do first?" Sam asks. They all look up at Dean, who appears to be staring at something in the distance. "Dean?"

"Shh…I hear something…" Everyone else looks and listens too, and soon they catch it: a crowd of voices and someone on a megaphone. Then a primal screech blares into earshot, and Dean pinpoints the location. "You get the sword. I'll get Skippy." He runs off, clearing blocks in two, thunderous strides.

"Dammit, Dean, I said not to split up!" Bobby yells after him. Dean disappears behind a skyscraper, and Bobby smacks his cap against his knee. "Great. Let's get the damn sword before the idjit kills himself." They pile back into the car and zoom down the Magnificent Mile.

Meanwhile, Dean has slowed to a walk, partly in hopes of sneaking up on the great snake, but mostly because he still feels heavy and hurty and dizzy. _Easy does it, Dean. Save your strength for the smackdown. _He catches his reflection in the polarized windows of a building and stops to have a look. He paints a much bigger picture now, but he's still him: same big green eyes, same dusting of freckles, same awesome hair. He could use a shave, but other than that, he's looking good. He grins at himself and turns to the side, flexing his guns. _Godzilla, eat your heart out, _Dean smirks, geeking out for a moment as he stands very, very, very tall. Then he holds his hands out to either side and pretends to roar, and he chuckles at what he sees.

His ears perk as he hears someone else chuckling too. A happy, light, girlie chuckle. Dean's eyes narrow and he looks closely at the building. Right at his reflected jawline is a little girl, no more than two. She's got her arms out to the side too, giggling as she roars back. As Dean looks in on her, she claps and waves. Dean looks over his shoulder, sees nothing, looks back, and points at himself to say 'me?' She nods, batting her tiny palms against the glass. He smiles and waves back. Then she pulls a curtain over her…waits…then jumps out and says "Boo!" Dean laughs at the utter cuteness. The little girl's face falls, and she waves her finger at him and babbles something Dean doesn't get. Then she hides behind the curtain again. Dean nods as he figures out what she wants, and he gets ready. She jumps out again with another "Boo!" and Dean staggers backward in mock surprise, hand over his heart as his other arm flails behind him. He leans against the building across the street as he pretends to steady himself, breathing in big whuffs, and the little girl claps and cheers. He smiles as he comes back to her.

She points at him—it's his turn now. So Dean ducks low…waits for it…then springs up and mouths "Boo!" so his voice doesn't shatter the window. She squeals and jumps back, tripping over her own feet but laughing on. "Again, again!" Dean nods and sneaks to the side of the building this time. He waits a few seconds…then jumps back and mouths "Boo!" again—but this time he's greeted with a bloodcurdling scream. The little girl's mother frantically shuts the drapes in Dean's face. Dean pulls his head back as he stands up straight, surprised and hurt.

"We were just playing 'Boo'…" he murmurs. Then someone else screams to his right. This one didn't come from the building, but from around the block. Dean presses his back to the side of the skyscraper across the street and peers around to the next block. Cornered against an elevated walkway that connects two medical buildings is the hydros. It's coiled up and hissing at the two barricades of soldiers, one stretched out across the street to its left, the other arcing around the plaza in front of it and to its right. They're all in the familiar black uniforms Dean has grown to loathe. _Oh joy, it's them again. _A crowd of people, many of them in scrubs or patient gowns, is gathered behind the barricade across the street that leads straight to the lake. Dean fears for them the most: they're all that stand between the monster and its water.

Dean creeps forward for a closer look at his reptilian nemesis. The hydros is huge, just like Dean—coiled up as it is, it's about half Dean's size. Its jaws alone are longer than a city bus, and its white, accordion-style hood shakes up a gust of wind that nearly sends the crowd tumbling away. The blue-grey scales shine in the morning sun, only slightly dimmer than the glinting, enormous fangs jutting into the air, ready to strike. _Not good, _Dean thinks. Then he spies a woman with a stroller in the walkway, right next to the hydros' head. _Really not good. _Dean moves in even closer…

"Ma'am, just stay calm," the megaphone guy yells.

"You stay calm," she whispers back. "You don't have a giant snake thing right in front of you!" She clutches the stroller handles and prays that her baby boy stays asleep. She hums his favorite lullaby, her voice quavering from her fear. A shadow falls over them, and she looks into a giant, slit eye, ember red and focused on her. "No…" is all she gets out before CRASH! The walkway splits in half as the snake chomps into it. The floor becomes a ramp, and both woman and stroller slide forward. The wheels hook against a railing support, and the woman hangs on for dear life. Her baby cries, and the hydros hisses at it and opens its huge jaws…

"Hey, Ugly!"

Everyone, civilians and soldiers and monsters alike, turns around to face the source of the booming voice. A second giant is standing in the street. _Another one?!_ the woman with the stroller shouts in her mind. _I thought this shit only happens in New York and Tokyo! _At least the new giant looks human. The snake screeches at it, and the giant smirks.

"Heh, I said 'ugly' and you looked." He takes a step forward. "Remember me?" The snake screeches again, hood rattling away behind its head, and the giant nods, still slowly walking forward. "Dude, I'm the one that should be yelling here. YOU did this to me. So I figure it's time for a rematch. Me versus you." The giant stops, glares, and adds, "And this time, it's very, VERY personal."

The giant leaps over the crowd, and the snake tears through the walkway in retreat. The walkway halves go vertical, and the woman and her stroller plunge toward the ground—but never hit it. Instead, they find themselves lifted to the roof of the building, courtesy of the human giant. He gently sets them down and smiles at them. "You all right? Junior too?" The woman nods, holding her crying baby close. "Good." The giant turns and runs after the snake, leaving the woman behind, speechless but grateful.

_Gotta keep it away from people, _Dean thinks as he runs. Lower windows break as the hydros slithers past them, and Dean's footfalls shake each building seconds later. His heart is pounding, but it doesn't hurt, fueled by pure hunting adrenaline. Dean actually lets out a laugh. Finally, after all the hiding and being locked up, he's free to run and hunt and—

_SMACK! WHIP SWOOP SLAM _"Ow…"

—get hit in the throat by something he never saw coming. Now flat on his back, Dean looks up at what he ran into. It's the hydros, high above and stretched from one building to another. "You son of a bitch, you clotheslined me!" The hydros just rattles its hood and releases the flagpole in its jaws, dropping straight down at Dean, fangs out and ready. Dean rolls out of the way, and the hydros gets a jaw full of concrete. Dean grabs it from behind, wrestles the head up to his chest, and holds the snake in a choke hold. "Gotcha!" Then the hydros wraps its entire body around Dean's. "Shit."

The hydros rolls, taking Dean with it, and they slam through some smaller buildings. Dean prays that there is no one inside. Then the hydros speeds down the deserted Magnificent Mile on its belly, dragging Dean along on his. Dean hisses from the road rash being burned down the length of his chest, and the hydros hisses back.

"I wasn't talking to you, Skippy!" Dean snarls. The snake screeches and hangs a right as it squeezes Dean tighter, working a coil up and around his throat. Dean scratches and pulls at his blue 'ropes' but they won't give. Then he spies a subway station entrance and as they pass by it, he hooks the toe of his boot inside. The hydros springs backward, and Dean uses the sudden shift in momentum to curl around and launch the snake onto its back. Dean breaks free and rolls away. They're now much closer to downtown; Dean can hear the Chicago River behind him.

"That means you have to get through me to get to the water," he thinks out loud to the snake. He digs in and moves into his well-practiced defense position and waves for the hydros to come for him. "Hit me with your best shot, snake-boy."

The hydros turns into water and seeps down the grates into the sewers. Dean sighs. "Crap. Forgot you could do that." He kneels down and puts his ear to the street, keeping very still. He hears the water below him change its flow, and he gets up and follows it, pausing every so often to listen again. Heading around a corner, he loses the sound to a wall of noise. Looking ahead, he finds himself face to face—well, ankle to face—with another blockade, this one much larger than the one by the hospital. Dean's chest is soon splattered with hundreds of tiny red guidance laser dots as every soldier takes aim, and two helicopters circle around Dean's head. A huge mass of civilians is blocked off well behind by police and fire crews. Ferries are lined up along the river, boarding evacuees one by one. As Dean steps into view, everyone gasps and screams and points and cowers.

"Another monster!"

"We're doomed!"

"Someone SHOOT it already!"

They all start yelling at once, and Dean wishes he could hide: He's never felt more like a freak in his life.

"Prepare to fire!" someone shouts through a megaphone. Dean holds his hands up.

"Whoa, hang on a minute—"

"FIRE!"

Every gun lets loose, and Dean looks around for a place to take cover. There isn't anything big enough, of course, save for the buildings. He ducks behind a lower skyscraper, and the helicopters give chase. One of them flies so close that the propeller clips the tippy top of Dean's ear. "OW! Sonova—" He backhands the chopper and sends it through the top floor of the building. "Oops." The guns fall silent as people scream and the helicopter takes a nosedive. Dean goes around the other side and catches it just before it crashes into the street. "Sorry about that," Dean says as he sets it down, smiling in apology at the two terrified pilots inside. "Don't know my own strength these days."

Now Dean hears the crowd murmuring, and, staying low, he looks over at them. "I'm not here to hurt anyone, okay? I'm trying to stop the hydros." More murmuring. "That would be the huge snake thing that's trying to take a bite out of Chicago." The murmurs turn to chatter, everyone talking it over with the people around them. Dean stands up slowly, doing his best not to be intimidating even as he towers over everyone. "Believe me, I'm just as weirded-out by all this as you are—"

"Fire at will!"

The militia moves forward, hitting the giant with everything they've got, and Dean only now realizes that other than his ear, he doesn't feel any pain. He looks down and watches the bullets bounce off his shirt. The remaining helicopter shoots a missile, and it hits Dean in the shoulder, explodes…and makes Dean giggle from the tickle. _Cool, I'm Batman AND Superman!_ Dean marvels. He can just hear Sam telling him it's because his huge body now sports very thick skin, not because he's Kryptonian. Dean ignores him just like he would if he were really there and enjoys being more awesome than ever. He turns his back to the blockade and tries to listen for the hydros. When a bazooka bounces off his thigh and blows up a parked car instead, the soldiers finally stop shooting.

"What are you doing?!" a familiar, irritating voice shouts from the com of the remaining helicopter. "Reload! We must kill this monster!"

Dean rolls his eyes and grabs the helicopter. He holds the cockpit in front of his eyes and glares at the tiny shades on the douchebag riding shotgun. "Yeah, I'M the monster," Dean sneers. "Wanna tell these fine folks how long you've been torturing people just like me?"

Shady Guy just brings the com back up to his mouth. "You will not win this time, 19. I promise you."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean pulls the remaining missiles off the helicopter and crushes them. Shady Guy is still yelling threats at him, so Dean tosses the craft over his shoulder like it's a balled-up flier. It's soon buzzing over his head again, but Dean ignores it and kneels down just in front of the police barricade. "You have to get these people away from the riverfront," Dean tells them. "The hydros is trying to get to the lake, and we CAN'T let it get there, all right? No way, no how, or it's game over."

The police and fire chiefs look at each other, obviously trying to decide if the enormous man in front of them is telling the truth. Nearby, the man with the megaphone pipes up instead. "Why can't it get to the lake?"

"Cos water makes it grow. You think it's huge now? Just think about what will happen once it's as big as Lake Michigan itself. First it'll feast on Old Chicago, then it'll head up to Milwaukee for a beer, maybe grab some dessert by eating every town along the Michigan shoreline…get the picture?" The police and firefighters all nod, looking very uneasy. Dean nods too, looking determined for all of them. "We have to kill it before that happens. Now I know it came this way, so—"

"Don't listen to it!"

Dean hangs his head, frustrated, as the helicopter lands to his left. Shady Guy jumps out and pushes through the crowd and up to the chiefs. "We have to capture this creature alive," he insists. "It's one-of-a-kind and needs to be studied!"

"It's dangerous and deadly," Dean snaps back. "It's too big to capture. We have to kill it before it kills anyone else in the city."

"I agree with the giant," the police chief says. Shady Guy looks appalled.

"Don't tell me you're actually siding with this…this…thing!" he gestures to Dean. "Just because it looks human doesn't mean it is one! It's a bloodthirsty monster!"

"I know you are, but what am I?" Dean quips, though he sounds more tired than amused. Shady Guy just gives him a condescending smirk.

"Just the comeback I'd expect from a dumb creature like you." He turns his back on Dean, smiling at his victory, though he jumps when he hears giant knuckles cracking. "I'M in charge here," Shady Guy reminds them all, "and I've been ordered to capture the snake alive, so capture it we will. As for the thing behind me…" He glances over his shoulder and looks into Dean's boots; the giant is standing up and looking pissed. Shady Guy clears his throat. "Kill it if it gets in our way."

The fire chief frowns. "He says he's trying to help."

"And I say it's trying to trick us! Now stop paying attention to it and be on the lookout for the snake!"

As if on cue, a manhole cover shoots up atop a jet of water. The hydros reforms right there on the street, screeching at the throng of onlookers. They all scream right back. The hydros makes a beeline for the river, pushing through the barricade of soldiers like they're Lego men, and terrified Chicagoans surge toward the ferries. Most of them get pushed into the water. Dean jumps over them all and lands in the river. He scoops up as many people as he can and dumps them back on shore. "Take cover, hurry!" Then the hydros springs over Dean, so Dean grabs it by the tail and snaps the snake back like a whip. "Denied!" he grins. Skippy flies over the crowd and takes a concrete digger into the empty street.

"Now!" Shady Guy shouts, once again in the helicopter. The men on the street shoot grappling hooks and huge nets out of big guns, and they sail overhead and drop on top of and around the hydros. Another helicopter flies in overhead, this one sporting a local news logo. As it swoops in for a closer look, the hydros goes liquid again and plows through the feeble trap, surging as a tidal wave along the street. Dean reaches up and grabs both the news and private army helicopters.

"Here, make yourselves useful." He holds the choppers sideways, one in each hand, and uses the wind to blow the wave back. The hydros snake-ifies again and screeches at Dean, furious, and Dean glares back as he sets the helicopters down. "You are NOT getting in that lake!" he promises, standing as a giant human wall in front of the river. Skippy snorts and, quick as a blink, spins around and smacks Dean with its tail. Dean flies backward into a skyscraper. The crowd gasps, and the hydros screeches at them, almost like it's telling them to shut up. Then it takes off for the river again, and everyone runs to avoid it. Just as the giant head is about to dip into the river, it gets pulled back. Dean is out of the building and reeling Skippy in, and as the snake struggles to break free, Dean jumps forward and pins it down under his stomach. The two of them struggle for control right by the State Street Bridge, Dean only just holding off the snapping jaws of the snake.

"Sure could…ugh…use that shrinking stuff…right now…" Dean growls. If he had a chance to look to his left, he'd see his baby flying over the Michigan Avenue Bridge. Everyone in the car watches Dean wrestle the hydros back to the street.

"Get over there, hurry!" Tyler yells, and no one yells back because they're all thinking the same thing. Sam guns it and heads up a parallel street, hoping to come out near Dean but not necessarily right next to him. They're about to emerge onto State when a scale-covered barrier lands in front of them. Sam stomps on the brakes, and the car skids and shimmies to a stop just inches in front of the hydros. Dean's enormous right hand comes into view as he reaches around the snake's body and pulls it up. The car creeps forward just as Dean pile-drives Skippy into the street, creating a deep crater as they land.

"Now stay down!" he yells. Behind him, the crowd cheers. Dean looks over his shoulder and sees everyone with their phones out and taking pictures of him. They each shake their phone in turn when the picture doesn't come out. Dean smirks and waves. _Could get used to this!_

He hears his baby honk right next to him, and the giant's gaze falls on his little brother, who steps out from behind the wheel of the Impala. Tyler, Bobby, and Owen are already outside, and Bobby waves the bronze sword over his head so Dean can see it. The hydros squirms the moment it lays eyes on the tiny weapon, and Dean has to renew his grip to keep it in place.

"Any time now, Owen," Dean grumbles in haste.

"Not to worry, Dean, just need a few minutes to prep the shrinking powder," Owen calls back.

"You've got one minute!"

Owen gives Dean a long look. "This isn't bloody _Star Trek_ and I am NOT sodding Scotty! It'll be ready when it's ready!"

The hydros squirms again, this time smacking the back of its head into Dean's package. He drops to his knees in all new pain, and the snake bolts away. "I thought we called no below-the-belt shots!" Dean groans as he struggles back to his feet, only to fall again. The hydros rebounds and shoots at Dean from behind.

"Bobby, give me the sword," Sam says. The moment the hilt is in his hand, he runs forward, charging at the hydros. The snake doesn't even notice the tiny human advancing on it, and as it opens its mouth to strike at Dean, Sam stabs it with the sword. The snake screams from the tiny cut, and it glowers at its little attacker. "Oh shit." Sam backs up, but the snake's mouth is around him in a flash. Skippy straightens up and swallows. Dean clamps his hand around its neck in an instant, and his other hand pushes into its throat.

"You are NOT eating my brother!" Dean rummages around the snake's insides. "Sam? If you can hear me, grab hold of my fingers, all right?" The hydros chokes and glares death at this intrusion, but Dean holds it firm. "Should've thought about how uncomfortable this would be BEFORE you decided my brother was a Twinkie," Dean tells it. He rummages around, praying he doesn't squish his brother while he's trying to save him. Then he feels something latch onto his thumb, so he pulls it out for a tentative look. Sam is there, wet but not covered in any hydros blood or slime, and he and Dean share deep breaths of relief. The hydros takes advantage of the distraction and slips free of Dean's grasp. Dean carefully sets Sam down and gets up again, breathing hard. All the fighting and moving has severely drained his energy, and his body is feeling heavier by the minute. But Dean forces himself to remain upright.

_This is getting old, Skippy…_He looks around for the snakey son of a bitch and finds it a street over, curling up around a tall building as it slithers toward the sky. Dean runs and jumps up after it, but the hydros easily avoids him and climbs higher. "Oh come on, this is _Godzilla_, not _King Kong_!" The hydros screeches from above, daring him to come after it. Dean rolls his eyes and gently pokes his boot's toe through some fourth-floor windows for a foothold. Reaching up for a handhold in a higher floor, he boosts himself up and starts to climb. The crowds gather below his feet, cheering him on.

"Stop cheerin' and move!" Bobby yells at the people around him. No one hears or heeds: watching the giant man climbing up the building is their only shared interest now. Even the police and firefighters are staring, just as transfixed as the civilians are. Bobby grumbles at all of them as he works his way through the crowd. "Chief!" Bobby yells at the police chief, who blinks and focuses on Bobby. "Quit yer rubberneckin' and get these people out of here!"

The chief glowers at Bobby, feathers obviously ruffled. "Who the hell are you?" Bobby fishes out his badge, and the police chief clears his throat. "Sorry, sir. Right away." The chief starts barking out orders, and the fire chief soon follows suit. Sam smiles as Bobby walks back over to him.

"What badge did you show him?" Sam asks, but Bobby just winks and pockets his secret.

"That's 'what badge did you show him, _sir_.'"

Sam shakes his head, still smiling. As the civilians move back from the building, the soldiers run past and take up their former position. They all re-aim their gun at Dean's broad back. "I don't suppose you've got a badge that would work on them," Sam mutters.

"Sorry, kid. My authority only extends to real people, not blind followers." Bobby looks at Sam and his mouth tips into a frown. "Sam, where's the sword?"

Sam looks to Bobby, who adds a tired look to his frown, and they both look to Sam's…empty hand. Sam's eyes widen.

"Oh no." Sam looks up at the hydros as it circles around the building's midsection.

"Don't tell me," Bobby says, "you left it inside the snake."

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Sam snaps.

"But you did it all the same." Bobby shakes his head at him. "Well you'd better figure out how to make that snake puke its guts, or we'll have to get Plan B in order. Oh wait, that's right—there IS no Plan B."

"I KNOW, I know!"

Just then, Owen and Tyler run up next to them. "Shrinking powder's ready," Owen announces, but no one responds. Owen sees Sam's frustration and opens his mouth to ask what's wrong, but Bobby cuts in first:

"He lost the sword."

Owen's jaw drops. "You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Bobby grunts, throwing Sam a dark look. Owen smacks Sam in the shoulder and mutters about 'bloody yanks' and 'dropsy fingers.'

"I was SWALLOWED by a SNAKE!" Sam snaps back, exasperated. "YOU try holding onto a sword when you're about to be digested!"

"So that's why Skippy doesn't look so good," Tyler comments. The adults look at him, and he points. "He's gonna ralph any second now."

"Snakes can throw up?" Owen asks. Tyler nods. "I didn't even know they could climb, to be honest."

"All water snakes can climb trees," Tyler tells him. "I even saw one jump to another branch! And then—"

_HOOOORK!_

The sound is only half as bad as the smell, as the hydros spits the tiny sword out with a long entrail of yeeeuch. The sword arcs high over head, bathing the street and unfortunate people below in the nasty stuff, before it disappears from view. _No no nonono…_ Sam thinks, moving into a run. _It's not lost. It can't be lost! _The hydros lets out a happy-sounding cry, like it's glad to be rid of it, and it fixes its ember eyes on Dean.

"This is gonna hurt," Dean mutters. The hydros slams into him with the force of a freight train. Limbs tangle with coils and both giants freefall toward the congested street below. The once unified crowd turns in on itself as everyone screams and pushes for safety. Dean's shoulder connects hard with a building, and the resulting POP makes every onlooker shudder. The snake twists and chomps onto an overhang about 20 floors from the ground. Dean makes quick work to grab onto its tail with his good arm, and the snake stretches out like a living bungee cord, stopping their fall. Dean and Skippy sway for a few seconds before the overhang gives way and they drop again. Dean angles himself to land in the small area free of people, but Skippy rolls at the last second and forces Dean to land on his back. The hydros tries to slip away, but Dean yanks it back by the tail. When its head whips back to snap at Dean, he grabs it by the neck, ties it around itself, and pulls it hard into a knot. The snake screeches in pain and outrage.

"Oh bitch bitch bitch," he throws back at Skippy, "I'm the one with the dislocated shoulder here!" Standing up on shaky legs, Dean braces himself, grits his teeth, and slams his shoulder into the side of the building. "UNGH!" It pops painfully back into place, and Dean tries to shake out the remaining pain as he kneels back down and looks around the multitude of tiny, cheering people that has surrounded him; there's only one person he wants to see. And there he is, working his way through the crowd. Dean has to smile: even among the Lilliputians, Sam is still tall. They're about to hit each other with the obligatory "you all right?" question when they hear children screaming. Both of them look up at the area where Dean's shoulder had hit the building next door. The floor has tilted and is beginning to slide out of the structure. Dean is on his feet at once. Black spots flicker into his vision as his back threatens to crack in half, and Dean leans against the building for a few moments and takes several deep breaths.

_I can do this. Yeah you hurt, but people need saving. Suck it up. Get it done. Do this._

Dean leaps onto the sturdy building next to the imperiled one and starts climbing again. His weight makes the floor above slide out even more, and big chunks of concrete fall past him and bash into the street below. Even the soldiers move off now, forcing Sam back as they retreat. Sam gets out of the way and watches his brother's shaking arms. He wishes he were big enough to help him.

_Sucks being demoted from Sasquatch Sam to Stuart Little,_ Sam mopes. Then he spies Tyler running into the building. Sam doesn't even think, just runs, long legs speeding him through the front door and up to the little kid in the lobby. Tyler is pressing the up button like his life depends on it, and Sam whirls him around. "What are you doing in here?! It isn't safe!"

The building groans in response above them. They hear a loud BOOOOZH as Dean either kicks or grabs another leverage point. Sam pulls Tyler away. "We're leaving. NOW."

Tyler squirms out from under his grip. "No we're not! Dean needs us!" The elevator doors open, and Tyler dashes inside. Sam has no choice but to follow him.

Above them, Dean has finally reached the broken floor. He looks through the tiny, broken windows and finds a bunch of little kids in daycare, all of them terrified and huddled around their teacher. The tilted floor groans as it tips further, and everyone slides toward the opening. Dean cups his hand there. "I've gotcha," he promises. The kids are scared, and they cling to the few furnishings that haven't slid yet. "Don't be afraid—I have to get you out of here before the floor drops out!" He reaches in, and all the kids scream louder. Even their teacher looks like she's ready to pee her pants.

"DEAN!" Tyler calls, and Dean sees his little friend running right at him from inside the room.

"Tyler?! How did you—" Dean gawps when he sees his brother appear next. "SAM?"

"We're here to help," Sam says, feeling sheepish that it took Tyler's simple bravery to remind Sam that he can still DO something. Tyler runs past him again and jumps out onto Dean's waiting palm.

"It's okay!" Tyler tells the younger kids. "Dean's my friend! He won't hurtcha, see?" Tyler hugs Dean's thumb, and Dean smiles. A little boy comes forward and steps onto Dean's huge palm. He shuts his eyes, no doubt expecting to fall, but soon opens them again when he realizes he's okay. The little boy beams at the giant, who beams back. Then the floor slides forward again, and everyone inside shakes with it.

"Hurry!" Sam yells. He grabs some of the smallest kids, and the teacher takes his lead and grabs the rest. They all rush forward onto Dean's hand. Only three kids remain, crying and scared stiff, so Sam straddles the area between Dean's thumb and the failing floor, very careful not to look down. He knows Dean won't drop him; he isn't so sure about the floor. "Come on, kids," Sam coaxes, puppy eyes out in full force. "We won't hurt you." The kids don't move, but the floor does, sliding straight out at Dean.

"Time's up, hold on!" Dean lets go of his handhold and grabs the three kids. As he falls, he holds everyone close to his chest until they're safely on the ground. He grunts as his knees threaten to break on him, but he crouches down anyway, leaning over the street and crowd below. The floor falls and breaks into pieces on his back, and he bites his tongue to keep from shouting in new pain. Everyone's cheering as he opens his eyes again and sets them all down on the ground.

"See? I toldja he's good, I toldja!" Tyler exclaims, jumping up and down. "He's my hero!"

"My hero, my hero!" all the little kids chime in, hugging different parts of Dean's hands. Dean smiles at them all, but only Sam can tell that it's not genuine. His brother is in a great deal of pain. The kids' teacher leads them away and gives Sam a kiss for helping (after blowing Dean a kiss for saving them), and Sam bends down to talk to Tyler. Tyler surprises him with a hug.

"Thanks," is all Tyler says. Sam and Dean glance at each other—GOD, this kid!

"Thank YOU," Sam replies. "You mind giving me and Dean a minute to talk?" Tyler nods and moves over to Bobby and Owen, who are making their way through the crowd. Then Sam turns back to Dean as his huge brother leans his back against the building.

"Should I even ask?"

Dean gives a small smile at Sam's question and closes his eyes. He looks scary pale again, and his shoulder is so swollen that his shirt has pulled taut on his upper right arm. Under any normal circumstances, Sam would order him to bed and break out the aspirin. Now all he can do is worry. Dean cracks his eyes open, and Sam waits for Dean to lie about how he really feels. Instead, Dean looks past Sam…blinks twice…and sits straight up.

"Son of a bitch."

Sam looks behind him, wondering what Dean's talking about, when it hits him: the hydros is gone. "What the hell?"

"Did ANYone see where it went?" Dean barks at the crowd. A screech answers him instead. Everyone looks up and finds the hydros perched on the building across the street. Dean wipes a hand down his face and stands up. Sam runs up to his left boot.

"Dean, no—you're dead on your feet."

"No, I'm sore and tired and headachy on my feet," Dean corrects him, sounding beat. "Not dead. Not yet."

"Let someone else go after it!" Sam cries. Dean goes down on one knee.

"I saw the sword, Sammy," Dean informs him, changing the subject. "There's a building under construction a block off the lake. The sword is in the side of the reddish building next to it. It's right under the building's roof, over the third window from the left. You get that," he stands up and sways, "and I'll get Skippy." He steps over Sam and moves around to the back of the building instead of crossing the street to the snake. Sam sighs through his nose, wholly frustrated, but takes off to find Bobby and fill him in.

High above, the hydros screeches again as it starts to slither around the building. It gains momentum and launches itself clear off, landing on the next building over with relative ease. The crowd turns back to see what their human giant will do…only to find their giant has gone missing.

"Where'd he go?" gets passed from one person to the next as everyone looks around. The snake seems to have noticed his pursuer's absence as well, and it screeches in victory as it makes a leap for the next building over. It's now only a block from Navy Pier, and its forked tongue seems to lick its chops as it spies the dark waves of Lake Michigan lapping up on the shore. So close now. The hydros leaps to one final skyscraper, only to get sideswiped by a big, blue blur. Dean's body slams the snake into the side of the building kitty-corner to it and holds on to the roof with one hand. The snake struggles to free itself, but Dean swings his legs back and slams Skippy all over again, making sure the snake's skull takes a proper clocking this time. Then he hooks his free arm around its snapping jaws.

"Time to say uncle, bitch," Dean growls. The snake keeps squirming, shaking the whole building with it, but Dean refuses to let it get away this time. It closes its eyes, falls still…then opens its eyes wide, looking very alarmed. Dean laughs. "Lost your water mojo, huh? GOOD." He slams Skippy a third time, relishing the feeling of the fight leaving the snake's body. He hears cheering again and looks down. The crowd from before is joining up with the crowd on the pier, whistling and applauding as they congregate on the streets below. It's a great distraction from how winded and sore Dean feels. His body really, REALLY wants him to let go and drop to the ground, but he just renews his grip on the rooftop. The news helicopter moves in overhead, and Dean can hear the live report from the lady next to the pilot:

"…now near Navy Pier. Is the picture any clearer Bob? No…well then let me stress again for the viewers at home that the fog you're seeing on the side of the building isn't fog. There really, truly are two giants there. One is a huge snake and the other seems to be a young man…late twenties or early thirties." She pauses and adds as an afterthought, "I wish you could see how attractive he is."

The giant looks up at her and smirks.

"Oh shhhh-sugar, I think he heard me," the newswoman laughs nervously. The giant wriggles his eyebrows. "Hang on Bob, I'm going to ask for an exclusive interview." She leans out the chopper, tiny pinks still flushed with embarrassment, and a pair of huge but entrancing green eyes locks on her. "EXCUSE ME!" she yells above the noise. "WOULD YOU MIND ANSWERING A FEW—?"

Her question is cut off by gunfire: a black helicopter has appeared on the other side of the giant and is firing at his back. The bullets bounce off him and ricochet all around and at the people below, and as the great crowd starts to panic, the giant swings a leg over to the building under construction next to him, shielding everyone from the bullet spray while still holding on to the snake creature.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Dean yells at the rogue helicopter. "You want to kill everybody?"

"Release the snake, 19," Shady Guy replies from the chopper com. "This will be your only warning."

The giant glares at him as the helicopter hovers just over his forehead. "No."

The helicopter opens fire on the hand Dean is using to hang onto the building's roof. The giant grunts in pain but keeps his hand right there, even as the concrete turns to putty around his huge fingers. The bullets start busting through the skin, blood and bone swiftly exposed to the air, but still, the giant hangs on. The helicopter gets close and the giant swats at it with his elbow, forcing the chopper to take a momentary retreat. The giant's hand is bleeding badly now, but he renews his grip and stays right where he is.

"Dammit, Dean, LET GO!" Sam yells from the street. He actually gets "Can't!" called back down to him, and Sam kicks at a fire hydrant in frustration.

"Stop it, Sam," Bobby yells now. "Breaking your foot won't help your brother."

"He can hear me but he won't LISTEN!" Sam gives the hydrant another kick as he sends a glare up at Dean.

"And you're surprised?" Bobby expects a glare for his remark, but Sam doesn't even look at him—just squints at something high above. "Sam?"

"I see the sword." He points. "Same building Dean is on—just above his shoulder. See it?"

"Yeah. So how the hell do we get up there?"

They get distracted by the news helicopter as it lands nearby. The men smirk at each other.

"Gus, what the hell are you doing?!" the newswoman yells at the pilot as she opens the door.

"Saving our behinds, that's what!"

"We've got the story of a lifetime here and you're worried about our safety?! What about the news? What about the people's right to know?"

"What about MY right to keep breathing?!"

They both pause in their fighting as two men rush past them. One is a very tall young man, the other is older and bearded. The latter holds up a badge to the pilot and says, "We're commandeering this aircraft under regulation C9-24."

"You can't do that!" the newswoman protests, but the pilot holds her back and lets the men pass.

"That's some badge you've got," Sam smiles, again trying to catch a glimpse. Bobby pockets it first. He straps himself into the pilot's seat, and Sam asks, "Uh, Bobby? Don't we need a pilot?"

Bobby flips some switches and replies, "You're lookin' at one." Sam is very surprised, and Bobby looks at him and adds, "You really think your daddy was the only one to serve in 'Nam?"

Sam is grinning ear to ear as the craft takes off. Bobby flies them straight up, and as the city passes below them, Sam is finally able to see all the damage the hydros has inflicted. There's a long trench leading from a smaller branch of the river, and a huge hole nearby. _It must have gone underground and ended up where we teleported in, _Sam decides. Then he looks to his right and realizes just how close they are to the lake. The hydros could literally jump into it from the building—all it needs is an opportunity. _So why isn't it moving? _he wonders, watching the huge snake more or less sitting there in Dean's strong grip.

"Hold on!" Bobby shouts, and the craft tips with his words. He flies them in close to Dean's face, and Dean scowls as they approach.

"Not a great time…for an interview…" he grunts, breathing hard.

"That's great, cos we don't want one," Bobby says through the com. Dean's face softens at once as his friend and brother come into view. "Where's the sword?"

Dean doesn't get a chance to answer: the hydros suddenly shoots up, jaws snapping at the intruding helicopter. Dean elbows it in the forehead, but Skippy tries again. "It's over there!" Dean nods to his right. The hydros wriggles out of Dean's grasp, and it slithers over Dean's good shoulder and lunges at the chopper. But Dean grabs the snake's lower half between his thighs and tugs it back down. Skippy gets pulled away from his prize and shoved back against the building, giving Bobby the chance to swoop in for the sword.

"Get ready Sam." Bobby dips the nose of the craft down low and shoots forward, but Skippy chooses that moment to sink its fangs into Dean's bad shoulder.

"Aaaagh!" Dean recoils in reflex and his back hits the tail of Bobby's chopper. "NO!" Dean grabs for the helicopter, but the hydros chomps into his side, swinging his head back and forth until a bite of shirt and flesh comes with it. Dean screams in pain and nearly loses his grip. He braces himself, waiting for his shoulder and side to start swelling, but nothing happens. "Guess I've already got enough snake juice in me," Dean comments to the snake. He gets hissed at in reply, so Dean slams his knee up into the snake's belly. "Shut up." Then he looks around for Bobby and his brother, scared to death to see them crashed somewhere. To his great relief, Bobby has regained control and is already heading back. "Oh thank God," Dean breathes. He has no idea Sam has just said the same thing about him.

"We have to get that sword, Bobby!" Sam shouts, watching his brother's shirt fill with blood. Bobby nods that he knows, and he signals Sam to get ready again. Sam leans his head out the side of the helicopter as they swoop back in, being mindful of the fighting giants this time. Dean sees them coming and pushes the hydros as far to his left as he can, giving Bobby as much room as possible. Bobby holds the craft steady and Sam leans out to grab the sword. He grabs the hilt and gives it a tug.

It won't budge.

"Stand down," they hear Shady Guy order, and his helicopter flies back into view from wherever it had been lurking. Bobby stays right where he is, and Sam tugs harder, but it still won't move.

"It isn't Excalibur, Sammy, come on!" Dean says next to him. And oh does he get a bitch face for that one.

"Fine, Dean! YOU pull it out!"

And no sooner are Sam's words out than everything goes to Hell.

The hydros turns to liquid and slips out of Dean's grasp.

Shady Guy's helicopter opens fire on Bobby and Sam and damages the tail propellers.

Sam falls out of the helicopter as Bobby struggles for control, leaving Sam clinging to a sword in the wall of a skyscraper, way too many stories up.

Dean reaches over to grab for Sam, but the hydros reforms around his feet and binds them up its coils. Then it stretches over to building under construction…and pulls. Dean starts to slip.

"Dean!" Sam reaches his tiny hand over to Dean's supremely large one out of pure instinct.

"I gotcha Sammy…I won't let you fall, I promise…"

The hydros pulls again with all its might and rips Dean away from the wall.

The next few seconds drift by in slow motion for Sam. Dean's hand remains outstretched, reaching for him as he falls. The big, green eyes are both scared and confused, and as Dean's back careens into the building under construction like a human wrecking ball, his arms and legs crash into each other, his face falls to his chest…and everything else falls on top of him. Time picks up the pace as the structure fails, dropping over 30 stories of debris. The sound is deafening. Sam knows he's screaming his brother's name, but it sounds a universe away.

Worst of all, there's no reply.

A thick cloud of dust billows skyward, obscuring the view, and Sam coughs into his arm as he tries to shield his nose with his shirt. _Dean._ It's all he needs to think before he's letting out body-wracking sobs. He's only vaguely aware that he's still holding on to the sword. Sam lets his grip loosen up. He doesn't want to hang on. His brother is gone. Again. _And I failed him. Again. _Sam stops crying as his guilt coats him anew and weighs him down. His grip slips further. _I promised him I'd fix him, _Sam scolds himself. _Promised we'd get him out of this. And now he's dead. _

A helicopter-shaped shadow comes forward through the cloud; Sam makes out the guns and knows at once that it isn't Bobby. Shady Guy smiles at him as they hover just above.

"My turn now, huh?" Sam mutters, not caring whether Shady Guy can hear him or not. Shady Guy keeps smiling as he pulls a revolver from his suit coat.

"Well!" he says, disposition far too cheery. "You may have won the battle back at HQ, but I've won the war. 19 is disposed of…" He pulls the hammer back. "And now it's your turn."

"You killed my brother, you fucking bastard!" Sam seethes, bearing his teeth. He gets shot in the shoulder for his trouble. Sam cries out in pain as his body spins in the wind; one arm isn't enough to keep him steady, much less alive for much longer.

"I didn't kill your brother," Shady Guy replies. "The hydros did." He waves the gun to his right. "It's over there now, trying for the lake. The local law enforcement won't be able to hold it off for long." The ground rumbles ominously far below. Both men glance down, but the dust is still thick in the air, obscuring any view. Shady Guy turns his smile back to Sam. "Just think: all of this could have been avoided if you hadn't interfered. The hydros would be contained—"

"Yeah and you'd use it to experiment on how many more people, just like Jeremy, just like DEAN—"

"And in the process, make important scientific discoveries and keep our country's defense on the cutting edge!" Shady Guy finishes. He's so sweetly condescending that his words turn to jelly in Sam's ears. "And what's more, your brother would still be alive."

The ground shakes again, making Sam's building shudder and the sword vibrate. Shady Guy chuckles as Sam struggles to keep his grip, and Sam glares at him. "Either shoot me or shut the hell up."

Shady Guy shrugs, "I can't help myself: I've always liked watching bugs squirm. Used to burn ants and spiders with my magnifying glass when I was a child. These days, I deal with much bigger bugs, like you and your brother. But the _schadenfreude_ is still there." He pulls the gun's hammer back and takes aim once more. "Bye bye, bug."

"Funny, cos you look like the bug to me," Dean's voice says from nowhere…and everywhere. Another shadow comes forth from the dust cloud, only this one is the size of a building. Shady Guy fires his round just as the entire helicopter is sucked backward into the cloud, vanishing at once. His bullet misses Sam but hits the sword right where the blade is embedded in the concrete. The sword falls loose, and Sam falls with it.

He falls for two seconds before his hand grasps a new handhold, but the sword plummets into the dusty depths below. Sam curses himself for being so clumsy as he holds on to something metal and sturdy for dear life.

"What is it with you and dropping that sword?" Dean's voice snarks.

"Dean?" Sam asks, hopeful. He thought he'd imagined the voice before. "Where are you?"

"Right here with you," he replies, and Sam can hear the smile in his words. "Right where I'm supposed to be."

The dust cloud clears up enough for Sam to make out what saved him. It's a horn, dark brass and attached to a head that bears an ancient face. He _knows_ that face. It's just never, ever been bigger than him before.

"You can let go, now," Dean says from above. "I gotcha."

Sam's too stunned to move. Dean's green, moon-sized eyes appear high above him, and his blue and grey shirts fill in the entire surrounding area. He's a skyscraper in his own right—maybe not the Sears Tower variety, but absolutely tremendous nevertheless. His palm comes up underneath his amulet and brushes against his brothers' dangling feet. The sword is there in the middle, resembling a bronze sliver in that mass of skin. Sam keeps his hand around the amulet's horn as his brain struggles to catch up to what he's witnessing. Dean's other hand pulls his necklace cord over his head, and he gently sets both his amulet and Sam in his palm.

"God you're tiny," Dean marvels. "You could fit on Lego Santa's lap." Sam doesn't reply. He just can't. Dean frowns a little. "Sammy? You all right? I mean, other than your shoulder…shit, that's bleeding pretty bad. Hang on, I'll get you some help."

Dean turns them around and walks them out of the dust cloud, and as the air clears, Sam gets his first real look at his brother. Dean's even bigger than Sam thought he was—there's nowhere that Sam can look right now and not see some part of Dean. Sam's stare settles on the ginormous face, and Dean gives him the briefest of glances.

"Least you're not saying 'Jesus H. Christ' over and over like Bobby was," Dean mutters. "He's fine, by the way. I caught him on my way up."

"Your way up?" Sam repeats.

"I grew on my own," Dean says softly. He looks down at himself. "I guess I kinda overdid it…" He smiles a moment before he clears his throat. "Anyway. Bobby's okay, and you'll be too in a sec. I see an ambulance."

"Wait!" Sam yells. Dean stops. "How…how…." Sam shakes his head, trying to wrap his scrambled brain around all of this. "HOW?" he asks again. Dean shrugs.

"Dunno, man. It was just like back at the complex. Thought about growing…thought about YOU falling…and I just grew."

"But…you were so hurt…and then you fell. That whole building came down on top of you! You HATE being trapped! How'd you get out? How'd you get over your fear? How—"

"Can we save the 20 questions until after we gank Skippy?"

Sam's eyes bug out. "Oh SHIT. Where is it?"

"Over there." Dean says it like he's bored, keeping his attention on Sam instead. He holds his itty bitty brother up as close to his eyes as he's able. Sam backs away on instinct; it's too surreal to be in a hand the size of a driveway. One of Dean's fingers comes way too close, but it's Dean that pulls it away, not Sam that pushes it away. Dean looks apologetic. "I'm scared to touch you, but you're hurt and all I want to do is help patch you up…" The big green eyes look up and away for a moment. "God this is fucked up…"

Then he starts coughing, though he turns his face to his shoulder so he doesn't hit Sam with any spit or germs. The cough is deep, painful—just hearing it makes Sam's own lungs hurt.

"Sit down, Dean. Better yet, LIE down."

"Huh? Why?"

"So you can breathe easier." Sam sighs when Dean rolls his eyes. "Come on. Dude, I've heard chain smokers that have healthier-sounding coughs than you."

"It's just a tickle in my throat. I'm fine." Dean gets glared at for that. "Wow, you're so intimidating right now. It's like pissing off a lady bug." He smirks through Sam's deepening glare. Then their attention is drawn away from each other as they hear a voice boom through a megaphone:

"All gunners, concentrate your fire right between his eyes!"

"Oh SHIT!" Sam and Dean swear at the same time.

Shady Guy has all his heaviest artillery, from rocket-propelled grenades to machines guns, aimed right at Dean's head. Even Dean's bulletproof skin won't save him from such a focused attack on a vulnerable spot. "He really is a cockroach," Dean comments to Sam. "I knocked that chopper out of the sky, and there he is, alive and dicking."

"Dicking?"

"Yeah, being a dick. He's really good at that, in case you haven't noticed."

"Well have YOU noticed that there's an arsenal aimed right at you?!" Sam yells back. Dean starts glancing around for a safe spot to put Sam down out of harm's way, but Sam yells again: "Forget it, Dean, just RUN FOR COVER!"

Shady Guy smirks, savoring the moment, then opens his mouth to give the order.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

Everyone looks around bewildered at the unexpected order, including Shady Guy himself.

A cavalcade of jeeps is racing up the street through the settling dust, and an imposing figure in a general's uniform and full military regalia is standing proud over the windshield of the front vehicle, holding his own megaphone to his mouth.

Shady Guy turns towards the troops and shouts: "FIRE AT W—"

"STAND DOWN!" Such is the authority in the general's voice that all the soldiers aiming at Dean immediately lower their weapons without question, leaving Shady Guy to sputter in impotent rage.

The jeeps come to a stop before the soldiers, and four Military Policemen jump out to surround Shady Guy. The general jumps off the jeep and walks in front of the men.

"I hereby assume command of this division until further notice. Commanders, relocate all forces to the shore. Keep that damn creature out of the lake!" The soldiers move off at once, and the general looks way, way up at the giant man. "You Dean?"

"Uh…yeah?"

"Meesh sends her best." Everyone smiles at the name, and the general moves over to Bobby and shakes his hand. "You must be Bobby. I'm Bradford Weber, old army buddy of Michelle's dad." They all look over at the hydros as the soldiers join the police and fire crews already on scene. Skippy isn't at all happy about that, especially when they bring the flamethrowers out. The hydros snaps both jaws and tail, eating some men and smacking others into the ground.

"This ends now," Dean announces from above. He bends over and, resting the back of his hand on the street, allows Bobby and two of the soldiers onto his palm to help Sam off. Then Dean stands up, wincing in pain as he uncurls to his full height. Sam doesn't miss it, so Dean dismisses it with a wave. "Be right back."

Dean walks toward the lake; it takes him two strides to get there. Skippy is screeching at every soldier and flamethrower that stands between it and its water—so close now that the forked tongue can practically taste it. Dean steps up behind the soldiers, and as his ridiculously long shadow covers the hydros, it looks up and sees Dean smirking back down. It lets out a different scream now—one that sounds a lot like "yipe!" Dean grabs its middle in one hand and turns around.

Bobby and Owen are conferring as Tyler sits with Sam, whose shoulder is getting patched up. Dean slams Skippy into the street and holds it down with ease. "Okay Owen," Dean booms. "Sam's got the sword, and I've got Skippy. Let's get shrinking." Owen looks at Bobby, who sighs through his nose. "Great, what's the bad news?" Dean asks.

"I-I'm so sorry, Dean," Owen says as he walks up to him, "but I don't have enough shrinking powder to shrink you both."

"WHAT?!" Sam shouts, jumping to his feet.

"I would've if you'd stayed the size you were when we got here, b-but now…" Owen looks miserable. "I'm so very sorry."

"It's all right, Owen," Dean tells him in a hushed voice. "We still have enough to shrink Skippy here, right?" Owen nods. "Then what are we waiting for?" Owen moves forward, but Sam stops him.

"You can't use it on the hydros," Sam says. "Dean needs it more."

"Sam…"

"What?" Sam demurs, standing as tall as he possibly can in front of his mammoth brother. "YOU'RE the one that's hurting, Dean! We can still kill the hydros while it's big—Owen could grow the sword!"

"But we still have to BURN it when we're done, Sam," Dean reminds him. "You really want to burn something that's as long as two city blocks?! Chicago'll never get that stink out." Dean shakes his head and turns his eyes back to Owen. "Do it. I'll be fine until you get more powder mixed up."

"Dean…"

Sam gets ignored this time. Owen moves up to the hydros, and Dean holds its head flat to the ground, keeping those fangs shut tight. It looks easy, but Sam can see right through it. His brother's face is covered in cold sweat, and his eyes are fighting to stay open. The hand that keeps the hydros under control is solid, but every other part of Dean is trembling. And his breaths…Sam's heard chain smokers that sound better than Dean does right now. His thoughts are cut off by Bobby's voice.

"Do we need to get the venom first?"

Owen shakes his head. "No. We can extract that once it's dead. The venom is so potent that we'll only need a few samples to create an anti-venom." With that, Owen sprinkles the entire bag of powder on top of the snake's head. Then he says a quick spell, and Skippy shrinks at once, disappearing underneath Dean's huge hand. No sound effect, no burst of light—he just dwindles back down to the size of a garden snake. Dean backs off to let Owen and Bobby in. Bobby holds the snake's head between his thumb and index finger as Owen takes two vials and shoves their soft lids through Skippy's fangs. Milky fluid rapidly fills up each one. Owen soon replaces them with two more, then two more after that to be safe. He places them all in a rack for storage before he looks to the younger Winchester.

"Sam? Would you care to do the honors?"

Sam nods. "Gladly." He picks up the bronze sword and looks at the stupid snake that has caused him and his brother so much trouble. "Thanks for nothing," he mutters, and in one swift stroke, cuts the snake's head from its body. Tyler sighs out a big breath and smiles, and everyone smiles with him. Bobby gets out his lighter.

"Sam got to kill it, so I get to burn it."

"Fair enough," Sam smiles.

The military police drag Shady Guy up to them and drop him at their feet. Shady Guy's douchebag sunglasses break on impact, leaving the little weasel exposed. He seems such a slight man without his mask. Sam's about to thank him for everything he's put them through with a few punches to the face when he gets an idea.

"Hey Owen, can I talk to you a minute?" He leads the Brit away.

While they talk, an older man in full general regalia, medals and all, soon joins them. Bobby offers his hand.

"Thanks for all your help, General," Bobby tells him as they handshake.

"Thank YOU for saving Michelle and my Godson." That gets high eyebrows from everyone, including Shady Guy. The General snorts and looks down at the fuckwad. "Yeah you heard right. Can't wait to get all the details about how you experimented on my Jeremy. Then a nice, speedy trial, and they'll send ya off to some pit of a prison somewhere."

Bobby chuckles. "Music to my ears." The military police pick Shady Guy up, and Bobby punches him in the teeth, nearly breaking his jaw. "If I ever see you again," he snarls, "I'll drag you down to Hell myself. Hear me?"

Shady Guy doesn't reply, so Bobby spits in his face. "Take him away."

"I've ordered a full investigation into this secret complex of theirs," the general informs him. "If everything Michelle has told me is true, we'll have it shut down in a matter of weeks."

"You need any help disposing of the critters inside, let me know," Bobby says. "Least I can do to thank you for your help today."

They watch on as Shady Guy gets thrown into the back of a military truck. Sam and Owen run up to them just before they shut the door. The guards look to the General, who waves that it's all right. The guards hold the man tight on either side. Shady Guy spits blood out of his mouth instead of looking at Sam.

"You here to gloat?" he asks flatly.

"Nah. Not when action speaks louder than words." Sam grins and nods to Owen, and they each hold up a small injecting needle. They both plunge a teardrop amount of something into Shady Guy's butt cheeks and simply walk away. By the time they're back with Bobby, the roof of the truck blows off as Shady Guy's ass keeps growing. Tyler whoops and cheers with delight, and Bobby just shakes his head at them, attempting to hide his own smile.

"Dean will wish he'd thought of this," Owen laughs. Sam gets an 'oh yeah!' look on his face and searches around for Dean. But Dean is no longer there.

"Dean?"

Bobby, Tyler, and Owen all look around, but somehow, the building-sized giant has disappeared. Then Sam spies a boot print in the mud of a large, grassy area nearby. He runs at once, first past it, then in that general direction. He rounds a corner…and skids to a stop.

"Oh no. Please God, no."

His brother is lying on his back on the street. Eyes shut. Chest still. Sam rushes to his side and climbs up his left shoulder. It's a much longer climb this time around, but Sam isn't thinking about Weird right now. He's only thinking about Dean. As he gets up to his brother's chest, he moves up to Dean's chin.

"Dean?"

No reply. Sam climbs onto the chin itself. The huge face in front of him doesn't even twitch. Sam runs his hand through his hair, panicked, frantic…scared.

"DEAN?!!"


	19. Sasquatch Sam to the Rescue

**Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal **(concluded)

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

**A/N: **We made it to the end! Thanks to Katiki for all her help with this fic, and thanks to all of you that have taken the time to read and/or review this story. I truly hope you've enjoyed the ride as much as I have :)

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: Sasquatch Sam to the Rescue**

Dean has always figured he'd die in one of two ways: one, on a hunt—very likely. Two, from a sudden heart attack after amazing sex with his 20th Playboy Bunny—just as likely. But dying as a 300-some-foot giant in Chicago? Honestly, he never saw that one coming.

He can't even lift a finger right now; every last bit of energy he had was used up in simply moving his enormous body. He felt as if he was wearing a lead suit and walking at the bottom of the ocean: EVERYthing, from simply raising his hand to catch Sam, to taking a few steps to grab the hydros, to kneeling down and holding it still, required so much effort that it nearly made him black out. When he stood up again after Skippy had been shrunk, his vision swam and refused to clear. Dean decided he'd better lie down before he fell down. So he slipped away, taking advantage of Shady Guy's attention-stealing arrest, and found an empty street nearby. Carefully, Dean sat down, triple-checking that absolutely no one was in the Squish Zone, and eased himself onto his back. He shut his eyes, using up the last of his strength in the simple action.

Now Dean's nearly frozen in pain, breathing in needles, breathing out blood, as his massive ribs crack from their own weight. In his mind he pictures Wile E. Coyote just after the POOF, lying flat on the hard canyon floor, a giant boulder squishing him paper thin. Dean would smirk if his two-ton lips would allow it.

_Wish I were a cartoon, _Dean thinks. _Just wait for the next scene to start and I'm all better, just like that. _He manages a very weak sigh. _Reality sucks._

His thoughts scatter, dandelions to the wind, and every sound goes hollow as The Quiet billows in and settles down. His heartbeat slows. His breaths become shallow. Dean knows he's supposed to fight The Quiet, but he's so very tired. _You've done the job, _The Quiet tells him. _It's better this way. No one will even notice if you let yourself rest._

And for the first time in a long time, Dean doesn't argue.

"Dean?"

The Quiet is disrupted by the small voice. _What was that?_ Dean asks it, but The Quiet assures him it was nothing. Then Dean feels the teeniest pressure on his chin. Surely THAT is something. But no, The Quiet tells him to ignore it.

"DEAN?!"

_Sam?_

The Quiet dissipates as the sounds swirl back into Dean's ears. Wind. Waves. His brother starting to cry.

_What's wrong, Sammy?_

The teeny pressure on his chin moves again. Dean tries to crack his eyes open so he can figure out what's going on, but he's so exhausted…even that minimal movement seems overwhelming.

"Don't leave me, Dean," he hears Sam whisper. "Please…"

And with his brother's simple plea, Dean's eyes crack open on their own. He sees the sky—blue with the happy, fluffy clouds that sometimes look like stuff. The clouds seem to swirl as his mind churns, struggling between coming back to the pain or falling back to painless sleep.

"Dean?"

_Sam?_

The teeny pressure taps up his face, and a very little blur appears at the bottom left of his vision.

"Dean, hey!" the very little blur with Sammy's voice exclaims. "Man, you scared me…"

_Sammy? Where…scared you how…where are…?_

"We'll fix you, all right? But you gotta hang on."

_Tired, Sammy…_

The Quiet creeps back in, gently pulling those heavy lids shut again, but the Very Little Blur with Sammy's Voice waves his arms. "No no no, Dean…stay awake." He sounds sad again. "You have to stay awake, okay?"

_Okay little blur. I'll try. _The big green eyes stay open—barely.

"Good, Dean." The blur rubs his microscopic hand on Dean's skin. It's comforting. "Bobby and Owen will be here soon. Just hang on."

The last few words come out in a small sob. Dean wishes he could tell the Very Little Blur with Sammy's Voice not to cry. His heart hurts even more when he hears it.

"God, Dean…are you even in there? Blink twice for me if you can."

The Quiet tells Dean not to, but Dean doesn't want to make the Very Little Blur with Sammy's Voice sad. Somehow he summons up the vast amount of energy to give two small, slow blinks. The little guy cries again. _Oh no, I made him worse._

"Dean…" The voice is watery, but happy, and the blur wipes his blurry arm across his face. "Sorry, man, I'm just so glad to know you're here with me." He smiles and adds, "You're probably calling me a wuss inside your head…"

_Not a wuss. Just don't be sad anymore._

"Sam!" a lower-pitched voice calls. The little blur looks away.

_Little blur IS Sam?_

Another, younger-sounding voice is calling his name, and he feels something extra tiny grab on to his ear. "DEAN! What's wrong?"

A third voice answers him: "Stay back, Tyler."

"But we have to help him!"

"We will, but he's in a lot of pain right now. We shouldn't touch him or we might make him feel even worse."

The extra tiny something lets go of Dean's ear at once. _You didn't hurt me, Tyler, _Dean thinks, and for a brief moment, he remembers everyone. Tyler. Bobby. Owen. Sam. Then his thoughts jumble up again and he's second-guessing himself; he both knows and doesn't know these people. Even Sam is his brother and a stranger at the same time. Dean tries to concentrate, but his mind is worn out from the constant struggling. The little blur—_no, SAM, _Dean tells himself—disappears from view. Dean's heart pangs. _Where'd he go? Is he sad again? Why'd he leave me?_

Then Dean hears a whisper in his ear: "I'm not giving up, Dean. Don't you give up on me."

Dean tries to nod but doesn't succeed. He takes in another thin, agonizing breath, and listens to his brother's tiny footsteps as they walk away.

Sam joins Bobby, Owen, and Tyler in their worried huddle near the top of Dean's head. Bobby opens his mouth to ask how Dean is doing, but the crushed look on Sam's face tells him everything.

"How'd he get so big?" Tyler asks Sam, sounding very small as he says it.

"Sometimes he can grow on his own. He doesn't know how or why…it just happens."

"That would explain why the hydros didn't get any bigger when Dean did," Owen muses.

"Well he shouldna done it," Bobby grumbles. "Now he's in a world of hurt and there ain't a hospital around big enough for him—IF we could even move him, which we CAN'T."

"Bobby…" Sam warns, looking from the hunter to Dean's ear and back again. Bobby holds his hand up, nodding that he knows Dean can still hear him.

"Just sick of seeing you so hurt, kid," Bobby mutters at Dean. He turns away.

"Had…to…"

The words are weak and rusty, but it's definitely Dean's voice. They all look up at him, straining to see his face, but it's too high for them to see anything but the corner of his left eye. He swallows and coughs hard, and blood sprays down on his face and his friends. "Couldn't…ungh...let…….Sam…fall…" he rasps. "Prom…missssssed…" The coughs attack him again, and his enormous body spasms. The street shakes so badly that the buildings sway and lamp posts break, and Sam has to crawl over to Dean's ear.

"Shh," Sam soothes, ducking as the wire holding the traffic signal snaps and smacks against Dean's temple. The huge head turns slightly toward him. "Don't move, don't talk, Dean, please. Save your strength—"

"NO…Sam…" Dean grunts, sounding frustrated. "Had to…fight! Hell…trapped…just couldn't…scared…" The words dwindle into a pained cry. Sam feels something wet drop onto his head, and he looks up and finds the tell-tale streak leading from Dean's eye down to the ground. Dean is breathing so hard now that he sounds like a whistling teapot, and the frantic drum of his heartbeat resonates through the ground. Another tear trickles down as more coughs tear their way through his system.

"Relax, Dean," Sam begs, crying a bit himself. "You have to let yourself rest or you won't get better." The shaking eases up, and the giant seems to deflate. Bones creak and crack, muscles sag. A few aftermath coughs sputter out. Sam's watery eyes look up at Dean, who has managed to turn his head just enough that his left eye is now completely in view. The long eyelashes are stuck together in pearls of large tears, but the sea of green behind them is still, as if weakened by a storm. Dean just looks at him, features settling into his Trying to Be Brave Face. Sam would recognize it anywhere. He puts his hand on Dean's cheek—a small touch of comfort is all he can offer his big brother right now.

_FLASH! _

Sam and the others turn toward the camera flare and find a gathering crowd snapping away. Based on their grumbling, the pictures still aren't coming out, but that doesn't keep them from trying over and over. One man starts climbing up Dean's arm, and Sam sees red. He rushes over, jumps up, and throws the guy back to the ground.

"Get the FUCK off my brother!" He pulls his fist back to punch, but Bobby holds him back.

"We don't need any more trouble," Bobby barks. Sam nods—he knows. But he glares as other would-be adventurers start climbing up Dean's limbs, staring and gasping and pointing at the giant in their midst.

"Dean's hurt and they're treating him like a playground," Tyler grumps, just as pissed off as Sam. Then Tyler cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, "He just saved your lives, y'know!"

Some new people show up and shout similar things at the rude ones, but they shout back that they can do what they want. Overhead, the news copter is fighting for air with a police chopper. The military people are arguing with each other just down the street, some yelling to contain the giant, others to award him a medal. Dean starts to moan, no doubt from the rising noise in his ears.

"Give over," Owen grouses loudly at the bedlam, "your bloody greed will be the death of him! He doesn't need this stress! CLEAR OFF!"

Sam is thinking the same thing, glaring at everyone who can't see that his stricken brother needs HELP. But no one listens. Fights break out here and there between do-gooders and good-for-nothings. The police move in and try to hold people off, but more people climb up onto Dean's body to get away. When Sam overhears one man yell at another to "help me get this huge ring off—we can sell it to the papers!" the last strand of his patience breaks, and he storms over to Owen.

"You still got that growth powder?"

"Yes, a bit, but—"

"Use it on me," Sam orders, standing over him. "Make me as big as Dean so I can get him out of here."

"Are you off your block?!" Bobby shouts as he joins them. "Look at him, Sam! He's so big he can barely move! It'll be the same way for you! How the hell you gonna carry him outta here on top of that?"

"I'll manage," is Sam's terse reply.

"You'll break your back before you even get him down the street! And then what, Sam? What if you drop Dean and break him too?"

"He can't stay here!" Sam yells back. "He needs rest and help, not people walking all over him!" Sam points to the growing throng atop Dean's chest as proof. His face falls as he turns back to Bobby. "I can't just stand here and watch him die again," Sam utters, head low and back to Dean so he hopefully won't hear. "I have to do SOMEthing, Bobby. And if getting him some peace and quiet is the only thing I can do…" He trails off, looking upset, but then he nods with conviction. "Then that's what I'm going to do." The puppy dog eyes look up from the ground, and Bobby sighs.

"Yeah," he says, conceding Sam's point. "Guess I'm just pissed that I didn't think of it first."

Sam gives a half smile and turns to Owen. "Can you make me big? Yes or no." Owen hesitates to answer, so Sam folds his arms. "Owen?"

"Yes, b-but I don't know if I can make you as large as Dean—I only have half a bag left. And even if I can make you that big, it won't last. You've seen how quickly the effects wear off. I could only promise you ten minutes tops. How far do you really think you can get in ten minutes?"

"Far enough," Sam answers, mind very much made up. Owen sighs and looks down.

"It's going to hurt, Sam," he says quietly. "I won't lie to you. The transformation itself won't be bad, but when you're up there…all that weight pulling you down…" Owen shakes his head.

"Dean's at least had a chance to get used to the pain a little," Bobby continues gently. "But you won't get that, Sam. It's gonna hit you all at once. You might die before you ever get the chance to move your brother."

Sam nods that he hears what they're saying, but he licks his lips and looks right at Bobby. "If I don't take this chance, Dean will die," he replies, voice breaking. "Right here in this street. I have to do this, Bobby. I want to." He turns to Owen. "So let's go. Make me a giant."

"That will not be enough," a new voice tells them. They turn around and find a man in a trench coat standing next to Tyler.

"Who are you?" Owen asks.

"Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord."

Tyler looks awestruck. "Really?" he asks, breathless. Castiel casts his deep blue gaze down at the boy and nods.

"You're also LATE," Sam seethes as he stomps forward. "Dean's been in trouble for DAYS. Where have you been?"

"Fighting in the field. I am sorry, Sam. My superiors kept Dean's condition secret from me until moments ago, when it became clear that he would die before he had finished God's work. I came at once."

Sam's skin and temper prickle at the words. "So you're only here to make sure he lives long enough to do your work. He's just a servant to you, a tool!" The angel's gaze falters, and if Sam didn't know any better, he'd swear he actually looked hurt by the words.

"I am here for Dean," is all Castiel replies. Then he teleports to Dean's forehead, and the huge eyes look up at him.

"Hey…Casss…" Dean whispers. Castiel puts his palm on Dean's skin.

"Rest, Dean. Rest." The angel shuts his eyes, and everyone keeps quiet a few moments so he can concentrate.

"Can you fix him?" Tyler asks hopefully.

"No." Castiel stands up, looking disappointed. "The healing energy required is too much, even for me. I was…afraid of this."

"Then why'd you stop me?!" Sam yells up at him.

"Because enlarging yourself is not enough," Castiel replies calmly. "Dean is masked from cameras. You, Sam, are not."

"You get big and your face'll be on every TV nationwide," Bobby realizes. Sam looks nonplussed.

"Fine, so disguise me."

"I cannot do that."

"Well then what CAN you do?!"

"I will be able to stop time while you move Dean to a more…restful environment."

A soft chuckle burbles out of Dean's throat. "Cas ex machina," he mutters. "Awesome…"

"No one will see you go," Castiel continues. "Dean will seem to vanish into thin air."

"Great, stop the clock," Sam says. Castiel just looks at him. Sam frowns. "What now?"

"You are injured." Castiel puts his hand on Sam's still-bleeding shoulder and it heals in seconds. Sam rolls his shoulder around, amazed at the complete lack of pain. He looks at Castiel, surprised more by the angel's gesture than the healing itself.

"Thank you."

"You need your strength if you want to help your brother," Castiel points out in his usual matter-of-fact manner. Sam nods. The angel holds his arms out to either side. "I will stop time now."

"Hold on, Clarence." Bobby moves past the angel, who is moderately confused at the wrong name, and stops in front of Sam, giving him a good look in the eye.

"I can do this, Bobby," Sam swears.

"I know it, kid. I just don't want you to." With a sigh, Bobby gives him an 'all right then' nod. "There's a large park south of here, on the lakeshore. You two should be safe there."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam smiles with gratitude. Then he turns to Owen and ducks down so Owen can pour every last bit of growth powder on top of his head.

"Everyone stand back," Owen suggests. Everyone but Castiel moves away, and Sam steps back a few strides as well. "Remember, Sam, you won't hurt while you grow, but you'll feel it as soon as you've stopped. Take a few deep breaths before you move, or you'll fall right over. All right?"

Sam nods. Owen looks to Castiel now. "Stop time the moment I've finished the spell. This stuff works fast."

Castiel nods as well, slow and serene, and faces Sam once more. "Time will start again the moment Dean touches ground. I will find you after that and bring your friends. Once Dean is small again, I will be able to help him." His normally austere face softens, and his blue eyes grow kind. "Good luck, Sam," Castiel wishes—and disappears.

Everyone looks to Owen, who gulps down his worry and nods that he's ready. He says two strange words and instantly drops away as Sam shoots upward. Sam feels like he's on an express elevator, but the windows shrink as he gets higher, wrecking the illusion. All at once he stops. Sam looks around at the frozen birds and the flags stuck in mid-flap. Time is definitely at a standstill. _Okay, _he thinks. _Let's do this. _He takes in a deep breath…

…and hisses in pain as the gravity smashes down on him. It's like two big hands are squeezing his ribs while a third strangles his heart. His jellied legs buckle and he's falling. His knees slam into the ground, and Sam grabs onto the building next to him to keep his torso upright. He breathes hard, even though his burning lungs beg him not to. Then a migraine the likes of which he hasn't experienced since his last vision smashes through his skull at point-blank range. Sam shuts his eyes and clenches his teeth as he rides out the waves of pain wracking his body.

_How the hell did you handle this, Dean?_

The thought makes him remember why HE is putting himself through this, and he looks over at his big brother. He spies the Chicagoans on Dean's chest first and marvels at how tiny they are, holding their itsy bitsy cell phones that Sam can barely see. Then he locates Bobby and Tyler and Owen. They're all standing to Sam's right, near his knees, but they're so SMALL…Sam can't believe he himself was ever that small! _You weren't, _he reminds himself. _Dean was just that big. _He looks down at himself. _This big… _Sam shifts his ginormous knee and smooshes a Hotwheels-size police car flat. "Oops." As one hand peels the metal off his jeans, the other gently brushes his insect-sized friends a little further away, just to be safe. Then, taking a few breaths to steady himself, he finally allows his eyes to drift up to his brother's face.

In short, Dean looks awful. Ashen skin, shoulder swollen to bowling-ball size, blood-spattered t-shirt, and slow, labored breaths, all wrapped up in a silently suffering form. Dean's eyes are shut tight and his jaw is clenched, and Sam doesn't have to imagine the pain he's in anymore—he's experiencing some of it for himself. Sliding forward on his knees, he scoops the frozen Chicagoans off Dean's chest and sets them down by his boots. Then he cups his hand around Dean's cheek. "Dean?" he asks gently, like he's waking up a sleeping child. Dean opens his mouth to speak but coughs instead, and the back of his head hits the concrete. Sam slides his arm behind Dean's head to cushion him and then carefully wipes away the bloody spittle around Dean's lips. Dean winces, though whether it's because it hurts or because he hates the mothering, Sam doesn't know. He guesses it's a bit of both.

"Just hang on a little longer, Dean," Sam tells him. "It'll be over soon." Instantly he regrets his choice of words, until he looks down and sees a ghost of a wry smile on Dean's face. _He's still in there. _It fills Sam with hope. "Okay, here we go." He moves into a squat, puts his hands underneath Dean, and lifts him up. His knees scream at the exertion, while his spine threatens to break from the sheer weight of both gigantic bodies. But Sam grits his teeth and keeps rising until he's standing fully upright. He looks down at Dean again and finds him looking back. The big green eyes are wide open and displaying one, clear message: Don't do this, Sam. Sam responds by putting one of Dean's arms around his neck for extra support.

"I've gotcha, big brother," Sam smiles. "And we're getting out of here right now."

Sam takes his first step, and the concrete cracks on impact. The second sends more cracks rippling up the street. The third swallows his foot whole. Sam stumbles, and Dean moans as his aching body gets squished against Sam's chest as his little brother holds him tight.

"I won't drop you," Sam whispers, telling the fact to himself as much as Dean. Sam tries to get out, but the hole eats his shin. More concrete is cracking around them, and Sam knows it's only a matter of seconds before the entire block crumbles. He has to move. NOW.

He jumps as high as he can, which isn't nearly as high as he wants. They clear the hole, but form a new one when they land. Sam turns toward the lake and starts running. The street crackles behind, giving chase, but Sam runs on. He jumps onto Lakeshore Drive and stretches out his longer-than-ever stride, covering as much ground as possible. Soon the cracks become single, gigantic craters as Sam's heel hits the pavement with the force of a bomb. Dean whimpers in pain with each step, and Sam holds him even tighter.

"Slow…down..." Dean murmurs in a painfully dry voice.

Sam shakes his head and keeps running. He smiles to lighten the mood and quips, "You sound like Emperor Palpatine." Dean makes an annoyed sound, shaking his head back and forth, and Sam looks down at him and finds his face is now sheer white, making the blood on his lips look as red as paint. His teeth, also blood stained, are bared, and his entire body is shivering.

"Dean? What's wrong?"

Dean grunts, face contorting with pain and effort. "Hhhhh-heart," he croaks out at last.

"I know it hurts, Dean, I'm so sorry. I'm hurrying, I swear." Sam pushes on even harder, ignoring the new pain radiating up his left arm and up to his head. Dean cries out and rubs his forehead against Sam's shirt, right where his ribs hurt the most. He's mumbling something into the fabric, and Sam grunts at his own pain as he ducks his head down. He hears the word "yours" and frowns, confused. That just makes Dean moan, and he starts butting his forehead against Sam.

"Hey hey hey," Sam soothes, worried at how distressed his brother is getting. "What, Dean? What are you trying to tell me?"

Sharp pain provides the answer, cutting through Sam's ribs and slicing into his back. He stops running and bends over, fighting to breathe with newly leaden lungs. Dean is squirming again, more strength to it this time, and Sam has to crouch down and lean over him to keep him from rolling off.

"Lemme go…" Dean rasps.

"No, I've gotcha, I'm fine." Another agonizing shockwave radiates through him. "ARRRGH…ungh…"

Dean kicks his heel into Sam's side. "Down! NOW! Leave…me!"

"I won't let you fall, Dean!" Sam yells. Dean stops struggling, and Sam pulls his torso up so he can look at his brother's face. Wide-open eyes stare back at him, looking shocked. Sam grunts and readjusts his hold on Dean as his chest pain slowly ebbs. "You didn't…let me fall…" Sam pants. "Wuh…wouldn't. You really expect me…to drop you? Huh?" Dean's eyes flicker with sadness...doubt. Sam regards him with love. "Never," Sam promises him. "Won't leave you, Dean." The dark doubt in Dean's eyes fades away, replaced by brightness—the look Dean usually gives Sam when his little brother pulls through something awful. Sam reflects it back down to him, and, forcing air down his clenched throat, he slowly stands them back up. "It's my turn to play hero."

Dean's eyes roll and close, and he mutters a barely audible "bitch." Sam smiles and angles his left arm out so he can see his watch. Five minutes left—if he's lucky. Sam looks around and spies a large park ahead in the distance. _Please let that be the one Bobby mentioned, _Sam prays as he starts walking again. _And please let me get Dean there in time…_

The woods don't seem to get any closer after the first minute, so Sam pushes his shaking legs into a jog. "Almost there, Dean, just hang on." Dean doesn't protest this time—he's quiet. Sam wants to look down and check on him, but he can't afford to waste any more time. He runs, glaring at the trees and willing them to come closer. His heart begins to clench, so Sam fights to keep himself breathing evenly. Spots appear before his eyes. He doesn't slow down. _Get to the trees. HAVE to reach the trees for Dean. For DEAN._

And then they're finally there, towering above the tallest trees and a sparkling lagoon. No one is around anywhere that Sam can see, so he thuds over to the edge of the lagoon and lays Dean down on the grass. Sam sits down beside him and props Dean's head and shoulders up against his chest.

"Made it," Sam wheezes. He's so relieved that he starts to laugh, brushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. "We made it, Dean! We're safe." Sam smiles down into his brother's face…and gasps. Dean's eyes are sunk and his skin is beyond pale—it's almost translucent, like a fresh corpse.

"That bad…huh," Dean whispers, eyes cracking open again. Sam shakes his head.

"You've been worse," Sam lies with a smile, "so don't worry—you'll get to keep your Miss Universe crown."

A small laugh scrapes out of Dean's throat, and harsh coughs follow. Sam supports him as Dean's upper body seizes through the coughing attack, blood and cries wetting the air. Sam hears several small cracks—more ribs breaking—and Dean falls limp against him. Sam takes his own flannel shirt off at once and binds it around Dean's chest, cursing himself for not doing that sooner. Dean's eyes flutter open.

"…Sammy…?"

"I'm right here," Sam replies, looking around for Castiel. _He said he'd come the moment I set Dean down. So where—?_

"…have to…TELL you…" Dean whispers with another cough. He's trembling again, so Sam wraps his arms around his brother.

"What, Dean?" he asks, trying to keep his brother talking and awake, even though Sam knows how much it hurts. Dean's eyes open all the way but don't focus on anything.

"M'not…afraid…anymore…" His lips curl ever so slightly. "…building came…down…trapped me……but I didn't…" He coughs again, face crinkling up in aggravation. "I…didn't...eerngh…get scared!" Dean breathes hard, but he looks happy—even fulfilled. "I beat them, Sam…" His eyes start to close, but the smile on his face remains. "…beat them…"

Sam gives him a very gentle hug. "I knew you would, Dean. I knew you had it in you."

Dean coughs and gives a single headshake no. "Not…me…you. Cos of you, Sam…my, cosofyoucosof…you…" His eyes shut and he smiles again. "Broth…ther…"

His face goes blank, and his jaw falls slack.

"No." Sam shakes him. "Dean? Hey." No response. Another shake. "Talk to me, Dean." A few taps to the cheeks. "Dean?" Sam leans his ear down to Dean's chest and finds no heartbeat. "NO." He starts CPR at once. Blood spurts out of Dean's mouth. Sam keeps going. "Come on, Dean. Don't die on me." He breathes into Dean's mouth and keeps pumping.

All of a sudden, his hands start to shrink. Sam's heart pangs in panic. "No, not now!" He keeps the compressions up, but in no time he's too small to make the enormous chest move. Soon after that, he can't even make a wrinkle in Dean's shirt. Normal size again and standing in the middle of a grey cotton countryside, Sam falls to his knees and listens for that huge heart to beat. It doesn't.

"NO!" Sam jumps up and down in sheer desperation, trying to summon up enough weight for a compression, but it's no use; a mouse can't save a dinosaur's life. Sam collapses, exhausted. Eyes soaked with tears look up at Dean's face. His head is still tilted back from the CPR, so Sam can't see if his eyes are open or shut. But he fears he already knows.

"Dean…" he whimpers. "_Please…_"

No response. Sam breaks down, sobbing as he curls himself up over Dean's heart. His thoughts run wild with grief.

_Don't leave me._

_Why can't I save him?_

_I failed him. I always fail._

_I CAN'T be alone again!_

_I should be dead, not you._

Sam stretches his arm out over Dean's shirt and puts his palm down in a final pat. Nothing happens. The blame holds Sam down, threatens to flatten him, and he doesn't fight it. Doesn't care. Nothing matters anymore.

_LUB._

Sam's breath hitches at the soft sound. He blinks and waits. Nothing comes. _Please please please please—_

_LUB-DUB._

Just as soft, but there. Sam looks up. "Dean?"

_LUB-DUB……LUB-DUB_

Weak, slow, but there. THERE. The huge chest rises up in a shaky breath, and Sam is crying again—this time in pure joy. "Dean," he repeats, letting his brother's name sum up his love, his thanks, his everything. Then a shadow looms over him, and Dean's gigantic hand cups high over Sam, blocking out the cold air.

"…can't…get rid of me…that easy…" Dean breathes. Sam laughs and wipes his tears as he leans his back against the pad of Dean's thumb. It moves ever-so-slightly in a comforting rub.

Outside the hand-made cave, they hear the fluttering of wings…

* * *

**Epilogue**

_One week later, around 8 p.m._

Dean's phone vibrates and he grins, already knowing that Tyler has sent him yet another text message. The kid's been messaging him nearly non-stop since they said their good-byes four days ago, but Dean doesn't mind. It's kind of nice having someone out there trying to make him smile. Dean checks the message:

_DEAN! Turn on WGN right now!_

Dean flips over to the station, and the screen fills with a scene of mass celebration. Chicago's streets are packed with happy, cheering people. The reporter on scene shouts into her microphone to be heard over the crowd pushing up behind her:

'All of Chicago has turned out for this celebration, one week to the day that our city was attacked by a monster and saved by a very friendly, and from what I'm told, very handsome giant.' The women in the crowd shriek happily at that part, and a buxom blonde holds up a sign that reads, "I'm up for grabs!" complete with a silhouette of a gigantic hand pulling a female out of a window. The reporter laughs and goes on. 'Gino's Pizzeria has even prepared the world's biggest slice of Chicago-style pizza in gratitude to the giant, but so far, he hasn't shown.' They switch to an aerial view of the square slice, nearly half the size of a city block. 'Not to worry, though—if the giant decides he isn't hungry, all of these folks will be happy to eat it for him.'

The crowd cheers, and Dean's head hits the ceiling as he looks at all that pizza goodness. The TV shuts off.

"Awwww," Dean moans from the motel room bed. He grabs for the remote, but Sam holds it out of reach.

"Stop torturing yourself, dude."

"I earned that pizza! Can't we even go back for one bite?"

Sam smiles sadly. "Someone might recognize you. And since you can show up in pictures again…" He takes out his camera phone and snaps a shot of his pouting, 10-foot brother to demonstrate, and shows the picture to Dean as proof. "You're staying here."

Dean crosses his arms and sulks. It's taken a week of painful anti-venom injections and uncomfortable shrinkings to get him back down to normal size, and yet he still grows every time he sees, smells, or thinks of food. Occasionally a woman sets it off instead: once he came out of the bathroom just as the sexy young maid came in to change towels. He started flirting, she flirted back, and he grew with his arousal. The maid screamed and ran out of the room. That was two hotels ago. They move away from Chicago a little more each time, but they watch the news every night to make sure that Dean was never photographed. So far, so good. Because no one caught Dean on camera, the rest of the world thinks the entire incident was just a huge tourism ploy by the city, ignoring the evidence of broken buildings and thousands of eyewitness reports. They've even chalked up the huge tracks Sam left on Lakeshore Drive to very elaborate (and expensive) pranks. To the brothers' surprise, the police have played along, denying the reality of the affair in every news conference. Whether that's just their way of saying thanks to Dean or an attempt to put an end to crazy speculation about when the giant will be back, they don't know—and honestly, they don't really care. What matters is that everything turned out all right. Except for the fact that Dean's cravings are growing—literally.

Right now they're waiting for Michelle and Owen to stop by with the results of some tests they ran to figure out not only why Dean still grows, but why it sometimes wears off on its own, and other times it doesn't. Dean's stomach growls, and Sam hands him a big bag of peanut M&Ms.

"You do realize that I spent the last of Waldo Durden's money on your snackage," Sam complains with a smirk.

"Money well spent," Dean smirks back, eating the entire contents in one mouthful. He swallows and signals for more. Sam opens a new bag, snags a few candies for himself, and hands the rest over. Dean happily munches away, and Sam smiles. It's so good to see Dean looking like Dean again.

It was very touch and go at first. There was a tense hour while Owen made the first batch of anti-venom, and they all kept watch as Dean struggled to keep breathing. Castiel meditated while atop Dean's forehead, and it somehow kept Dean calm as well. Sam later asked the angel what he did. Castiel simply replied, "I reassured him of your well-being." Then Castiel asked Sam why he looked angry.

"He was nearly dead, and he was still thinking about ME. Why doesn't he ever think about himself?"

Castiel just stared with those deep blue eyes. "Do you really not know?" And he turned back to Dean and said nothing more.

And Sam knew, of course. But he'll never stop wondering why, because it will never make sense to him. Dean coughs and Sam's head snaps to his left, just as it has every day and every cough since the park. After Owen injected Dean, he deflated like a balloon, shrinking so fast that he was back to normal in seconds. Sam smiles as he thinks back on Dean's first words: "God, that's better." Then he fell unconscious, no doubt from all the stress on his body followed by the sudden release. No sooner had Castiel healed Dean's shoulder, ribs, and lungs that Dean started to grow again, requiring another injection. And so it had gone for the next two days. Dean slept through most of it, resting comfortably at a ritzy, high-rise hotel Tyler's parents treated them to in thanks for saving their son. Sam remembers looking down at the street from their vantage point on the 32nd floor, marveling that Dean could have ever stood outside and looked right in at him. Resting in the huge bed, he looked so small. He still coughed, fighting a cold, and Sam still jumped to bring him water and make sure he wasn't getting any worse. The injections finally took, and Dean stayed small—until the first time he saw a commercial for Chili's Baby Back Ribs. Dean grew until he took up the entire room, squashed up on his side so he wouldn't bust through the ceiling. Sam was pinned between Dean's neck and the door.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I still have a problem."

Sam resisted the snark and patted his hand on Dean's chin. "We'll fix it, Dean. I promise."

Sam prays that he can keep that promise.

He hears snapping fingers, and he blinks out of his contemplation and back to the here and now. "Huh?"

"You gonna answer the door or what?" Dean asks.

Sam notices the knocking now and moves into the living room part of their suite. They've been staying at nicer places to get these larger rooms and give Dean any extra growing space he might need. Sam looks through the peephole and smiles. "Cavalry's here," he announces as he opens the door. Michelle and Owen step inside. Owen nods a greeting and slips past, and Michelle gives Sam a big hug.

"Hey Sam. How's your heart?"

"Fine. It really hasn't hurt since that day in the park." He smiles as she examines him anyway. "How's Jeremy?"

"Better. We've got him down to 20 feet." She looks both happy and sad at the news, and Sam knows why. They've had to go much slower with Jeremy due to his much more severe condition. And since Castiel had to leave just a day after Dean's return to normal, they can't rely on angel power, either. Michelle smiles up at him and gives him a little smack on his chest. "Stop feeling sorry for us, Sam. We'll be fine. Bobby is back with him now."

Sam nods and they go in to see Dean. His big brother is a little smaller again—maybe seven or eight feet now.

"Did you inject him again?" Sam asks Owen.

"No. He did that himself."

Dean looks surprised. "I did?"

"You did. Just as well, really, as I've no anti-venom left for you. We have to save it for Jeremy. And besides," he smiles at both brothers, "Dean doesn't need it anymore."

Dean and Sam look at each other…and frown. Sam reaches down, opens a bag of chips, and holds up a single Frito. Dean grows at once. They both look back at Owen. "You call that cured?" they ask together.

"He isn't CURED," Michelle responds, "because there's nothing TO cure. He doesn't have a growing problem anymore."

Sam opens a bottle of beer and Dean grows again, bigger than when they first came in the room. Michelle opens her mouth, but Sam signals her to wait. He lifts up a skin mag from Dean's duffle and unfurls the centerfold. Dean grows so big and so fast that they all get squished up against the wall.

"So when you say 'no growing problem'…" Dean murmurs to the people pressed into his side.

"The hydros…is dead, Dean," Owen strains from under Dean's elbow. "You're growing entirely on your own!"

Dean shrinks at once, and they all fall into a dog pile. Dean's the first to scramble away, looking rattled at the news. "But I'm not even thinking about it," he confesses. "It's just happening!"

"Exactly," Michelle smiles. "And you just went back to normal on your own, too."

Dean sits down on his bed, not liking where this is going. "So what…I'm Apache Chief now? Growing is my superpower?"

"Erm…sort of. Reckon he had a bit more control." Owen blanches when Dean glares at him. "M-Meesh, why don't you tell him what the tests revealed…"

"Your DNA has been altered," she blurts out, but unlike Owen, she smiles through Dean's look of doom. "You simply had the hydros venom in you for too long. Plus, you were connected to it through long-term exposure to its blood. We can't cure you, Dean, because it's a PART of you now."

Dean doesn't say a word. He looks stunned. Sam speaks for him. "What, ah…what's that mean, Meesh?"

"It means that Dean can now grow whenever he wants, and as much or as little, too. Isn't that awesome?" Her smile fades when she turns to Dean, who seems a little lost. She kneels down in front of him. "Dean, this is _good_ _news_."

"Just think of all the good you'll be able to do with this ability," Owen points out. "All the added strength you'll bring to your hunts!"

Michelle rubs Dean's knee. "Of course you'll have to practice to get control. In fact, I'd let yourself get big at least twice a week—maybe spend the night as a giant."

"Just don't ignore the new you, all right? You have to allow your inner giant some freedom, or it may backfire on you."

"Backfire?" Sam asks.

"He might grow by accident more often if he neglects his new ability," Owen explains. "He has to grow comfortable with his, erm…growing."

"And he doesn't have to get super huge or anything," Michelle reassures both brothers. "Just…maybe about how big he was when we first met. Sixtyish feet. That's not so bad, right?" She looks back at Dean and finds him crestfallen. "Dean? Sweetie, are you all right?"

Dean blinks but stares at her shoulder. "Peachy," he replies, fronting a smile. He stands up, and Michelle follows, not convinced.

"You sure?"

"Absatively posolutely." Dean gives her a warm hug. "Thanks, Meesh, for everything." Releasing her, he gives Owen a firm handshake. "You too, man. Thanks."

"You're very welcome," Owen says. "Oh! Before I forget." He reaches into his pocket and produces a small vial. "Sprinkle some of this on all of your clothes and shoes. Then no matter what you wear, they will grow and shrink as you do. You can use it on your mobile as well."

Dean grins, holding the vial up to the light. "Cool, thanks. But you sure that'll be enough?"

"The vial itself is magic as well. It will never run out." Owen grins. "And yeah, it's the dog's bollocks." He smiles at Dean's confused expression. "That means the best thing ever." Owen walks back to the front room of the suite, and the rest file in behind him. "Ring me with any problems or questions, yeah? I'll be in London, reopening my shop." He shakes Sam's hand and leaves. Michelle waves both boys in for a simultaneous hug.

"Call me too, boys. Anytime, twenty-four, seven, three-sixty-five." I've got Bobby wrapped around my finger now, so if you incur my wrath, you'll be answering to both of us." Sam and Dean chuckle, and she gives them each a peck on the cheek. Then she straightens their shirts and smiles. "Bye."

Sam waves and shuts the door behind her, and his smile gently fades away. "So, you going to tell me the truth?" he asks as he turns around. But Dean is back in the other room, sitting on his bed and staring at nothing. "Dean?" Sam stands in front of him. "What is it?"

"Nothing, Sammy," he murmurs. Sam frowns, but Dean lies down before Sam can say anything. "Think I'll hit the hay early tonight. Head hurts."

"Headache or—"

"Yeah." Dean sets his untouched beer down on the table. "Don't feel like you have to turn in too. Get out and go somewhere, or read, surf some porn, whatever you want." He rolls onto his side, facing away from Sam. Then he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay, Dean?" Sam knows damn well that he isn't, but he still has to ask.

"Tired, Sammy," is all Dean replies. Sam backs away and shuts the light off.

"Call me if you need anything. I'll be in the other room."

Dean doesn't say a word. Sam sighs and sits down with his laptop, hoping to find a legend about people or beings with growing powers while he waits for Dean to fall asleep. He knows it's probably futile to try. _But it's better than sitting here and doing nothing but worry, _he thinks, and his fingers type in the first search.

* * *

Sometime later, Sam looks up from his power nap and finds that he's been asleep for hours. It's past midnight now. He stretches his arms out and yawns as he gets up and makes his way to the bedroom. He checks on Dean. The bed is empty.

"Shit."

Sam races to the door and swings it open. The Impala is still there, same spot she's been in since Bobby drove her over the other day. Seeing her makes Sam even more nervous. He grabs his jacket, phone, room key, and gun. He's got Dean's number highlighted before the door shuts behind him.

"Yeah?" his brother's sleepy voice answers after a few rings.

"Dean? Where the hell did you go?"

"Out."

Sam actually glares at the phone. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You were smiling. Figured it was a good dream."

There's a pause as Sam fumes and Dean yawns. Then Dean murmurs, "Well, see ya in the morning."

"Dean, wait!"

"Mm?"

"Where ARE you? Bar? Diner? What?" No answer. "Dean?"

"I'm…in a field."

"A field." Sam has started to pace in the parking lot. "Not your usual kind of plowing."

"Funny."

"C'mon, Dean, tell me where you are. EXACTLY," he cuts in before Dean says 'a field' again. His brother sighs into the phone.

"You're not gonna let me get my shut-eye till you find out, are ya…" he grumbles. "Fine."

Fifteen minutes later, the Impala finds herself on a rural road. Sam stops her just past a farmhouse with a driveway lined by gnome statues. He grimaces at them. There are at least 40 of them—a little army of pointy hats and chubby, bearded faces. Sam turns around to the field across the street. Prairie stretches out in every direction, free of any feature save for a hill in the near distance.

_A hill that just rolled over…_ Sam gets out of the car and clicks his flashlight on. He jumps the fence and walks along semi-frozen ground. Dean sits up near the far end, facing away from the road. He's about 30-feet tall, hunched over, and shivering.

"Dude, it's freezing out here," Sam says as he moves around to Dean's front.

"Then go back inside," Dean mutters. Sam shines the light up to Dean's face, and a big hand comes up to block it. "Dude! Turn that off."

"But then I can't see you."

"Why d'you think I came out here?" Dean murmurs, not looking at Sam. Sam climbs up to Dean's knee and shuts off the flashlight. They sit in the darkness in silence for a few minutes, both of them looking up at clear night sky and the countless stars above.

"You forget how many there are," Dean comments at length. "All the lights from the towns and cities…they erase half the sky."

"It's called light pollution," Sam informs him.

"I wasn't really asking."

"I know."

Dean glances down at Sam, whose eyes must have adjusted because he's looking right back at him—and smirking. Dean smirks back. Their faces fall as the silence settles back in, neither one of them wanting to start the conversation they know they have to have. Eventually, Dean clears his throat.

"So when are you leaving me, Sam?"

Dean doesn't actually say the 'me', but he thinks it—and Sam hears it—all the same.

"Leaving? Who said I'm leaving?"

"Someone's got to stop the seals from breaking, and it damn well won't be me anymore."

Sam can't believe his ears. "Why?"

"Uh, cos I'm a full-time freak now?" Dean snaps. Sam balks, but Dean goes on. "Face it, Sammy—I'm stuck with this. Yeah I can go back to normal, but I don't know how. I need time, and we don't HAVE time. The fucking Apocalypse isn't gonna wait for me to figure this out. You have to go on without me—"

"Dean—"

"—and win this thing. I'll just slow you down and screw things up if I come along. And the world does NOT need a screw-up right now."

Sam nods along, hearing Dean's words but not liking them at all. "So that's it? That's the plan? I'm supposed to pack my bags, take off, and leave you here?"

Dean nods. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Well forget it."

"Sammy—"

"Don't 'Sammy' me," Sam retorts, paraphrasing Dean's words and anger from the other day. "Dean…I can't just abandon you! And more than that, I don't WANT to."

"Well you have to."

"Why? Cos you say so?"

"Damn straight!"

Sam stands up on Dean's knee and folds his arms. "This is stupid. I'm not leaving, end of story. Let's go back to the hotel."

"I can't."

"Yes you CAN. Come on." Sam glares at him, but Dean doesn't move. "What's the problem now?"

"I'm stuck, all right?" Dean's eyes sparkle in the starlight, and he looks up and away. "I came out here to practice," he tells Sam, speaking low. "Grew, walked out here, shrunk back down, and started from scratch. Got it right a few times. Big, normal. Bigger, normal. Then you called, and after you hung up, I knew I had to hurry before you got here. So I tried bigger yet…and now I'm stuck."

Sam can hear the shame in his brother's voice, so he's careful to keep his own in check. "What did you do to shrink before?"

"I don't know, that's the whole problem! Sometimes it's like a reflex, and sometimes it's just by thought…and then other times it just happens on its own. It's so confusing…I never know if I'm doing it right, only when I'm doing it wrong and this happens to me." Dean gestures to himself. "What if this happens when we're on a hunt, huh? What if some fugly gets away cos I just start getting bigger and get stuck? What if we're interviewing somebody in their home? What if I hurt the victim—hurt you?! What if—"

"What if you learn how to make it work?" Sam offers. "And what if I help?" Dean is speechless for a change, eyes and face like a little boy seeking comfort after a bad dream. Sam smiles warmly. "Meesh was right about this, Dean. If—WHEN you get this under control, it could really help with our hunts. You could flick the heads off vampires. Draw the world's biggest devil's traps. You could swat werewolves like flies!"

Dean gives a little smirk. "That could be fun."

"All you need is practice."

"We don't have TIME!"

"We'll make time," Sam tells him. "And I'll be here to help. I'm not going anywhere. I'll even stay out here with you on nights like this, if you want."

"It's freezing out here," Dean reminds him.

"Well then you'd better grow big enough so I can fit in your pocket." Dean smiles at that. Sam does too, then adds, "Um, that wasn't a request. I can't feel my toes."

"Oh! Sorry."

Dean grows till he has doubled in size, and Sam tucks himself in to the left jacket pocket.

"G'night, Dean."

"Night, Sammy."

Sam shuts his eyes. The familiar weight of Dean's palm soon settles over Sam's body, warming and comforting him at once. Neither brother notices the other one smiling.

* * *

The next morning, Sam wakes up and finds himself almost on the ground. Almost because he's still on top of his brother—but Dean is no longer huge.

"Uh, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not a giant anymore."

"Nope."

"So I'm basically just lying on top of you."

"Yup."

"Is it gonna be like this every morning after?"

"DON'T call it that. And God I hope not."

They both breathe. In. Out.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Feel free to get off me any time…"

"Sorry."

Sam rolls off. They brush the dirt off their clothes and walk back to the car. Sam tosses Dean the keys, and Dean smirks as they sit down. Sam looks at him, asking 'what?' with his expression, and Dean turns to him with a grin.

"S'pose I should buy you breakfast or something."

"Hilarious," Sam frowns, though he can't keep the edges of his lips from curling up. "Just get me a bowl of coffee. Black as night."

Dean nods. "You got it, Sammy." He starts the car, and the radio is playing a song that makes Sam groan and Dean laugh. "Oh come on, this is perfect, admit it!" Dean nudges Sam in the arm, and Sam nods.

"Yeah yeah. Still waiting for my coffee."

The Impala takes off down the road, Blue Oyster Cult's "Godzilla" blasting out of her speakers.

The End

**A/N Additional:** Again, thank you all so much for reading! A number of you have asked for a sequel, so I will happily oblige :) It will be called "Measure of a Man" and I will send out an alert here when Chapter One goes up sometime soon.


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